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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25381813">From Hated to Hero</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distraktion/pseuds/Distraktion'>Distraktion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Parahumans Series - Wildbow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Developing Friendships, Gen, Humor/Drama, Internal Monologue, Therapy, Worm AU, how do I powers?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:53:47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>63</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>303,505</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25381813</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Distraktion/pseuds/Distraktion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Veder discovers that gaining parahuman powers doesn't magically fix his anxiety, family problems, or bad reputation. He tries to both understand his strange new abilities and grow as a person, with mixed results. Despite his many mistakes and worries, he refuses to give up on his dream of becoming someone worthy of being called a hero. With a power that depends on other capes, he knows that failure isn’t an option.</p><p>Despite having some cool powers and humor, this story focuses on conversations, self-improvement, character development, family, and teamwork, rather than fights and power-fantasy. Though written primarily from Greg's POV, it also includes frequent Interludes from a variety of non-Greg people. Geez Veder, you think the world revolves around you or something?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>86</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>70</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Author's Notes, Warnings, Etc.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Rewrite: Between Sept 1-15 I almost completely rewrote the first story arc, thanks to some help from a lot of great people. It went from 14 Chapters to 12, got cleaned up a lot, had some crack removed, and generally fit the tone of the story better.</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>From Hated to Hero</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my first worm fanfic! I’m hoping to keep updating this every Sunday. There will probably be about 12 chapters per story arc, and a couple interludes in each since the majority of this fic is from Greg’s POV.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>General Plot TLDR:</b>
  <span> Greg Veder triggers just before Winter Break in Dec 2010, gaining parahuman powers that he immediately realizes he would...probably misuse. He tries to balance his new temptations and overcome his problems, but makes several mistakes along the way. At a certain point, he starts to wonder if maybe he should try to fix </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg Veder</span>
  </em>
  <span> before he starts trying to make a cape persona...and that’s when the real adventure begins.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Content Warning:</b>
  <span> I know that Worm is a world of abuse, fear, and hatred where society slowly slides towards the apocalypse as shadowy figures do shadowy stuff in the...shadows. There will be depression, anxiety, some self-loathing, and more than a few unhealthy thoughts as Greg and others fight to overcome...well, everything. Success is possible, but it’s not going to be easy and it won’t be fast. Still, it’s that much more meaningful when they finally get there.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Journal/Text Warning:</b>
  <span> The first story Arc has a little excerpt from the Journal Greg is keeping at the start of each chapter, setting a tone for the chapter itself and because he’s too afraid to ask for help. The second arc uses a chat conversation, since he now trusts one person. These are timeless, and are written separate from each actual chapter. Call them...food for thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Greg Warning:</b>
  <span> Greg </span>
  <em>
    <span>starts</span>
  </em>
  <span> this fic just as annoying, self-absorbed, and over-confident as he comes off in Worm canon (and fanon). This was on purpose, and I like to think the reasons he gives (hides behind self-deprecating humor, TMI, desperate for acknowledgement) were believable for someone who had been as desperate and lonely as he was. It may be annoying to read the first few chapters, even after my rewrites, but I had been trying to give him a believable learning curve. He does change, though, and for the better. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Powers:</b>
  <span> Though at first it may seem like he’s just delusional, Greg does indeed have powers. He is able to see individual powers in parahumans, even some they may be unaware of with regards to their granularity. He can copy a single, weaker version, although it comes with...limitations and side-effects. At the same time, he does have a unique ability with regards to these copies, but it takes him a bit to figure it out. By the end of Arc 1 it’s mostly all spelled out. Only downside is that he barely sees any parahumans until a few chapters in.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Main AU Parts:</b>
  <span> The E88 capes have jobs at Medhall. Kaiser/Max is spending more time in Boston lately for unknown reasons. Watchdog is working to undermine and gather info on the E88 and Medhall. Rather than pretend to ignore Taylor for a few weeks pre-Locker, Emma pretends to be sorry and re-friend her. Sophia is driven by a need to get stronger, not just “an asshole because her shard says so.” Terry Hess has a role in the story! The Protectorate and Wards actually interact with each other positively (sometimes). Finally, gave civilian names to those who lacked them, and threw a whole pile of Minor characters in for fun. I mean, yeah there are some OCs, but what about Snubnose, Nutcracker, and Dovetail?</span>
</p><p>With all that said...hit next and start enjoying Greg's exciting and thoughtful adventure!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Arc 1 Prologue: Starting From Nothing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010, 3am]</b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Journal Entry 0: Mission Statement</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, here we go. Writing words. Super easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>C’mon Greg, just take a breath and do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s just a secret journal where I record my innermost feelings, worries, and growth as a human being. Nobody is ever going to see this, since I can’t really trust anyone and don’t have any friends...so that makes sense. This should be no problem at all, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...Maybe start with a bit about myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hello there, only person who is ever going to read this (me). My name is Greg Veder, I’m 15 years old, and as of yesterday I...am a superhero. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or at least I might be, if this journal works like I hope it does and helps me become a better person. For right now, I’m just a parahuman...I think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s complicated. Let me start at the beginning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I was a kid, my parents told me that I could be anything. That all it took was passion, a goal, and the will to stick to it. I could be an artist, a lawyer, a doctor, a politician, or anything else that I put my mind to. I believed them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, why wouldn’t I? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad’s a successful Podiatrist (foot doctor) known and loved by people of all ages who love to walk, run, or kick things. He tells terrible jokes, and could probably get a job doing stand-up comedy (or be paid not to do it, don’t tell him I wrote that) if he really had to. He’s huge, strong, tough, and no matter how badly I let him down he always has a kind word for me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Mom’s a Librarian who has probably read more books that I’ll ever see, does the Dewey Decimal system for fun, can organize anything, and speaks at least four languages. Seriously, I’m pretty sure she learned Latin just to help my brother study for his MCAT. She’s an actual Judo Master, can cook better than anyone in the world, and somehow she believes in me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them had goals, they gave it their all, and every day they wake up wanting to do more. They’re also supportive, to a certain degree. Dad is always trying to get me to talk about medical stuff and is the reason that all my writing has so many bad jokes in it. Mom loves the fact that I like to read (even if it’s mostly comic books), and is the primary reason my English teacher is always praising my (over)use of parentheses. They’re both deep into their passions, and passed that on to their kids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like my big brother, George. He worked his butt off to get where he is, and any day now he’ll be putting the word “Doctor” in front of his name whenever he introduces himself. He’s deep into medical research and always talking about cutting-edge stuff. Helping blind people see, making cures for diseases that don’t even exist yet, and so on. Even in a world with capes, with parahumans, with people who can literally fly or lift cars, he’s focused only on normal people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and then there’s me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though it may </span>
  <em>
    <span>look </span>
  </em>
  <span>like I’m about to spend the next page putting myself down...that’s actually not the case. In fact, everything that follows is the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Old</span>
  </em>
  <span> Greg. This is just me loading him into a Viking Boat, so that I can shoot a flaming arrow and let the </span>
  <em>
    <span>New </span>
  </em>
  <span>Greg rise from the ashes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a little over-dramatic, but this whole journal is about me overcoming my past. I can’t do that if I shy away from it. I have to stare it in the face, figure out where I went wrong, and try harder!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So here we go. To start, I’m over-passionate, sometimes talking and rambling so much that I get breathless. I’m pretty skinny, with a scraggly blond bowl-cut and a frame that looks like someone slapped skin on a skeleton. Whatever good genetics Mom and Dad may have had, I didn't get any according to my bullies, so I’ve learned to just stop looking for compliments on that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I used to like the idea of making movies about capes, but everyone at school made fun of me when I invited them to help. Eventually I just stopped asking, and all my videos became one-man shows. Since I can’t be a part of reporting on or making media for cape culture, I’ve thrown myself into talking about it at school and online. I’m known on several forums for being in every conversation, with a huge post count.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although, if I have to be honest, for all my online skills at conversation, I’m on far too many blacklists to really consider myself any sort of digital Socrates. I’m pretty sure that the reason people walk away from discussions with me (both online and IRL) is because I’m like a vehicle without brakes, rolling downhill. Once I get going it’s hard to stop, and I bounce from tangent to tangent like a car running pedal to the metal on bald tires in the mud. I don’t stop until I crash and burn, or run out of gas. Sometimes both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But hey, I’m a human being, and we’re made up of both good and bad. We surround ourselves with people who can make up for our weaknesses, and shore up our strengths. We make relationships that define us, growing as people until we’re adults and ready to take on the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, that’s what every after-school special has told me, right? Surely for all my failings, I can trust the people around me to help me become a strong, responsible adult?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wrong. See, I haven’t got any people around me, despite my best efforts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, I always go a mile a minute when it comes to talking. It’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> because I’m some kind of socially awkward nerd with boundary issues (although that is part of it). It’s because of my bad habits, my anxiety, and my bad reputation, all of which make me afraid that I have to give every conversation my all or else it’ll be my last with that person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a problem, and it’s one of the reasons I have so many other problems. I see that now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried for a long time to hide from my problems. I read fantastic comic books, played cool games where I got to be the hero, and spent a lot of time on the ParaHumans Online (PHO) message boards. The latter was where I tried to reinvent myself, chatting with other nerds and pretending that instead of being myself (Greg Veder, human outcast) I was XxVoid_CowboyxX, cool guy!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, I spent so much time trying to impress people in my online persona that my desperation and loneliness once again bit me in the ass. I accused people of stupid stuff, called people names to get them riled up, trolled people who had different opinions from me, and even lied about being present for all sorts of events. By the time I realized what I was doing, I was in too deep, and my online persona was as much of a pariah as the real me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But enough of that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I can wallow in self-pity all day, but that’s not what this journal is about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This journal will be about me recording my thoughts, my fears, and my attempts to grow beyond the Greg Veder I had accepted. To become someone more than what my bad reputation makes me out to be. To rise above what the world has labeled me, and become someone who inspires people the same way the heroes I’ve idolized my whole life inspired me!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All it took was a near-death experience after I made the greatest mistake of my short life, and suddenly I had powers that made me </span>
  <em>
    <span>wake the hell up and try to be better</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This isn’t going to be easy. This isn’t going to be fast. Heck, this probably isn’t going to be smart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Already I’ve made a pile of mistakes, and it hasn’t even been a day! I could have died at any point today from my own dumb ideas. If it hadn’t been for my excellent memory and need to write it all down I’d have never realized that a lot of this was my fault. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I have to change myself, and that’s practically impossible to do alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But right here and now, I’m making a pledge to try, because I’ve been giving up my whole life and it’s gotten me nowhere! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This won’t make my problems magically vanish, but maybe it will help me focus less on the Greg I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>and more on the Greg </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to be</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and after that, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hero </span>
  </em>
  <span>I want to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All this, so that someday soon I can put on a costume, give myself a fitting name, and go out into the world to make it a better place. So that at the end of each day, I can take my mask off, look in the mirror, and be proud of who I see. So that I know my family is proud of me!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents always used to tell me that we all start from nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That if we have passion, motivation, and a goal, we can do anything we put our minds to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, as of today, I’m starting!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll become a hero, instead of being the guy that everyone hates! No, wait, that sounds bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I may be the worst person to have powers right now, because I have nothing to lose...but I’m also the best, because I have everything to gain! Wait, no...that sounds kind of supervillainy as well. Um, what’s a better way to put it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eh, I’ll figure it out later. For now, the adventure begins!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: We roll time back a few days, meeting our hero wannabe in his natural habitat, learn a few reasons that he thinks people hate him, and find out that teenagers are pretty much terrible.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edited 9Sept2020: Rewrote a lot of this prologue, taking lessons from my improved chapter plan and several great suggestions from readers. It may be shorter, but it fits the direction the fic goes a lot better. Also, I’m told it makes Greg 40% less annoyingly whiny and 70% more optimistically hopeful, and that’s always a plus in my book. 😅</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. 1.1: Understanding My Classmates</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: Italics Note: The lines in italics are Greg’s self-doubt, gut feelings, and inner monologue. I don’t know about you, but as someone with anxiety...my own inner voice can be pretty loud.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>1.1: Understanding My Classmates</b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One of the most important parts of any story is the beginning, and in my case it’s no different. I’m sure that years from now I’ll look back on all this and ask myself how I went from a depressed, self-absorbed civilian to a parahuman teenager with dreams of being a hero, literally overnight. Maybe it’ll be part of my memoir or something. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Many of my problems stemmed from the fact that I didn’t really understand other kids my own age. I always just sort of assumed that they were like me. Worried about everything, reaching out for someone to understand them, and overall decent people. Sure, they made fun of me, but I’d seen friends tease each other all the time and figured it was just part of the game. It made me feel bad that I didn’t ‘get it,’ and for a long time I assumed that was my fault.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But on the day that I triggered, I realized I had been wrong. It wasn’t that I didn’t understand them...it was that I had been willingly ignoring their faults because I was so desperate. I wanted to assume the best in them, that they weren’t bad people, and even the ones I hated I always gave another chance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As with anything people do while desperate, it led to a lot of pain. On the other hand, I learned a lot. Unfortunately, I learned far too late, and by then I was already neck-deep in problems.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, Dec 17, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Friday morning, the last day of school before Winslow’s Winter Break started, I was having a great dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This dream was rudely interrupted by a sudden stabbing pain in my gut. I snapped awake and saw my brother George standing there,  broom in hand and smile on his face. I reacted the same way any little brother would have.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, I let out a manly cry (or shriek) at his transgression. Next, I whirled around to throw a perfect roundhouse kick in his direction. If he hadn’t been several feet away and my legs hadn’t been tangled in the sheets (and I’d had any experience doing a roundhouse kick), I’d have nailed him in the face. Finally, I flopped out of bed and landed on a pile of dirty laundry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took me a few moments to wake up, and as George fled my room I managed to put it all together. The pair of noise-canceling headphones I was wearing made it easy to recall. I’d overheard some kids at school talking about a hot new song by a Bad Canary cover band, and even though I didn’t really care much about music I figured that listening to it would give me a chance to join in their conversations next time it came up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know that sounds kind of strange, but if I waited for people to invite me to their conversations then I’d spend all day waiting! If I’m an expert on a subject and hear someone talking about it, why not join in? Wouldn’t it be rude to let them keep on talking without my sage advice?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, I must have fallen asleep with my headphones on, and had thus slept through my alarm, Mom’s shout, and Dad banging on my door. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but normally George would have been much kinder with his wake-up call. He’d even used the bristle side of the broom! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grumbling about older siblings, I managed to pull my limited-edition barely-worn Miss Militia sweatshirt off my face and struggle to my feet. My wardrobe can be summed up as “capes on clothing, usually with words nearby,” so I didn’t even bother to look as I got dressed in some of the clothes on my floor. They felt like an old pair of jeans and a faded sweatshirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could have worn some of the amazing, limited edition clothing I had, but they were all still in plastic or boxes because of their collector’s value. Honestly, it was a wonder the half-dozen outfits I always wore hadn’t fallen apart. I made sure to smile at my collection of mint-condition cape figurines, clothing, and other merchandise before going out the door and heading down.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s odd. No breakfast smells, no coffee smells, but Mom and Dad are still here.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d always had a sort of inner monologue, partially because I self-narrated for myself. Not having friends meant that I spent a lot of time alone with my thoughts. I’d love to pretend it was a super power, but really it was just my gut feelings, conscience, and self-doubt. Kind of like having my own personal contrarian, pointing out all my mistakes and making me second-guess myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why are Mom and Dad just standing there next to suitcases? In nice clothes? What’s going on?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Indeed, as I reached the bottom of the stairs, I noticed that both my parents were well-dressed and standing next to a small suitcase each, leaving me both confused and silent. George was adjusting his tie, looking for all intents and purposes like ‘Greg plus a decade,’ but in an actual suit, plus an inch of height and a better haircut. Then I looked at my parents...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad was also in a suit, his burly frame topping out at six feet, a single one of his biceps bigger than my thigh, with his dark hair and mustache neatly trimmed. Mom looked amazing in her favorite red dress, heels making her almost as tall as Dad, her blonde hair in a complex bun. Honestly, she looked like some kind of deadly assassin or secret agent from a movie I saw once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally, Greg has graced us with his presence,” George said, waving a hand in my direction like some royal courtier presenting me to the kingdom of King Dad and Queen Mom. With everyone all dressed up, I was starting to think that something was going on here. “Can we go now? The opening ceremonies start at 4, and it’ll be at least a 2-hour drive with the usual Friday morning traffic, plus we need to stop at our hotel…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a moment, George, we just need to see Greg off to school first.” Mom smiled at him, then turned to me, saw the expression on my face, and switched to a different tone. “You’ve totally forgotten what today is, haven’t you, Greg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As my heart raced, I could almost feel my mind kicking into high gear.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. But I can’t say that or she’ll trust me even less. I need to buy some time, get some clues.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course not! In fact, I’m insulted that you would even say such a thing on a day like today...” I blustered, desperately searching my mind for an answer. “It’s...uh…today is...I mean, it may surprise you but today is actually...”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fancy clothes, suitcase, George still here instead of having left for his job, Mom and Dad looking disappointed (not a new thing), c’mon Greg, think!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friday,” George whispered, softly enough that I doubt Mom and Dad heard him. I smiled in his direction, and snapped my eyes back to my expectant parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Friday!” As the words left my mouth, I immediately realized George’s treachery and stammered as I tried to think of anything else to say...but came up blank. Instead I just repeated myself again. “Friday...is today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes Greg, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>Friday.” Mom paused, as if waiting for more, and then finally let out a little sigh, rubbing her temples. In a tone of voice that said </span>
  <em>
    <span>dear god, why didn’t we wear protection that night</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she slowly nodded and started to explain, “Your brother is one of several who won an award for their work in Medical Implants, and the three of us are going to Boston for a gala dinner and award ceremony. We told you about this last week, and you said that you’d be fine to stay home on your own until we get back tomorrow night. Remember that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Yes. Yes!” I said louder, forcing a chuckle as though the ‘No’ had been a joke. I wasn’t really sure if it worked, but Mom did glance at Dad and start gathering her things. To build trust, I decided to throw in a few extra words that would prove me a responsible adult that they could trust. “Don’t worry, I’m a responsible adult that you can trust.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nailed it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>George sighed and turned away to answer a call on his cell phone. My ears popped for some reason, and I scratched at one of them as he walked a few steps away, muttering to someone. Meanwhile, Mom and Dad looked at me like I was the furthest thing from a responsible adult. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was pretty sure for a moment they were considering either calling a babysitter or dragging me along with them, and as much as missing a day of school would have been cool, doing it trapped in a car with my parents and brother was lame as hell. I decided to try one more time, lowering my voice and speaking carefully, “Look, I know I can be kind of immature sometimes, but it’s only 24 hours. How much mischief can I really get up to in that time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s right, Sandra. He’s going to be fine.” Dad smiled at Mom, who sent him a </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> and waited for more reasons to trust me. Dad, ever the joker, continued to add, “Besides, he’s the son of a podiatrist and a librarian, so he’s well-read and not easily de-feet-ed! Eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom just walked out the door to start loading up the car. Dad, never one for confrontation or challenging the woman who had given him an amazing son (and me), pulled a few bills out of his wallet and held them out to me. He cleared his throat, then patted me on the shoulder with his other hand. “Remember, Greg, don’t throw any parties, don’t leave the doors unlocked, and lights out by eleven o’clock. I trust you, son.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Better add in a joke as well, let him know how relaxed I am about the whole thing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure the fire department will be happy to hear that, huh?” I took the money and stashed it in my wallet, trying to smile and ignore the way Dad’s smile faltered. I’d always tried to live up to Dad’s example, always having a joke for any situation. Problem was, I had gotten in the habit of self-deprecating humor a while back, so instead of laughs I just got pity. I was a master-class at creating an uncomfortable atmosphere. “I mean, um...thanks Dad. I’ll do my best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I believe you will, son.” Despite obviously not believing me at all, Dad said it with practiced ease. With all the weights he lifted, he could have just picked me up...but instead of dragging me off and shoving me in the trunk he just smiled. Then, for lack of anything else to say, he patted me on the shoulder and headed out the door. “Be safe, Greg. Love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it was just my brother and I. Despite his little prank, I wanted to wish him well. He was my brother, so something nice should have been easy. What actually came out of my mouth was pretty mean. “Congrats on your award George, will you be getting the Iron Cross?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...Greg, you idiot. You know how much he hates those rumors about his coworkers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s face froze, like water in Winslow’s outdoor water fountains. It had been a dumb joke, but in my defense it was one I’d made before. There were rumors floating around PHO about the company he worked for, after a member of the E88 had been spotted near their main building a week back. I’d had fun teasing him about it, but had promised to stop when Mom and Dad found out. I knew it was mean, and apparently he agreed enough to fire back at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I seriously wonder what the hell is wrong with you sometimes, Greg. Are you so used to talking on your stupid cape message board that you don’t know how to talk like a human being? What, do you think you have to say something shocking so you’ll look cool, or make yourself feel better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t trying to-” He cut me off with a slash of his hand and power-walked out the door, slamming it behind him with a finality that no words could argue against. I wanted to run to the door and apologize, but just then my phone started buzzing with its </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘leave for school NOW or you’ll miss the bus, dumbass’</span>
  </em>
  <span> alarm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grumbling, I grabbed my backpack, zipped it up, and rushed out the door in time to see the family car pull out of our driveway. George was ignoring me, but Dad looked at me with eyes that said he at least wanted to trust me. I nodded back at him, closing the door and running to the bus stop, knowing that I could just barely make it to the bus if I ran at full speed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...a few moments later, I ran back to the house, locked the front door, and looked around. Nobody had seen me and my family was already gone. Okay, responsible adult </span>
  <em>
    <span>starting now</span>
  </em>
  <b>.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I made it to the bus just in time, and after a ride that was both loud and bumpy I was walking into the hallowed halls of Winslow High School. No wait, it was the other thing...accursed. Yeah, the accursed halls of Winslow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A big crowd of kids was just inside, talking and laughing about one thing or another, and I carefully started maneuvering around them as I headed to my locker. They mostly ignored me. I wasn’t one of the popular kids, since I didn’t really fit into one of the three categories of Popular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Popular kids at Winslow fit into three main categories: Beautiful, Social, and Strong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma Barnes was a good example of a Beautiful person, as well as most of her coterie of friends and hangers-on. Not only was she always wearing the hottest fashions and getting invited to college parties (so she claimed), but the knockout redhead just carried herself with confidence. Nobody dared to mess with her, either, because most Beautiful people were also good friends with at least one Social or Strong person (she had both).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As for the second category, being Social wasn’t just about talking a lot (otherwise I’d have that in the bag)...it was more about quality than quantity. Emma also fit into this category, but her friend Madison was a decent example as well. She could cut someone off with a word, tear them down with a sentence, and get a crowd on her side with a sigh. Social people had connections, knew where all the parties were, and knew everyone’s weaknesses. They had the teachers in their pocket, the student body at their beck and call, and never got in trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the Strong. Football players, sports kids, and other jocks fit into this category. They were also the ones who gave wedgies, stuffed kids into lockers, and got away with everything. I mean, nobody in their right might would bench the quarterback over something as silly as a black eye! Sophia Hess was the gold standard for this, even though lately she’d been a lot less into it. Unfortunately, Julia North had picked up her slack with a vengeance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, these categories seemed to transcend the gangs that Brockton Bay (and Winslow, the armpit of its school system) was full of. For instance, our football team had Empire 88, ABB, and drug dealing kids on it who were all big, strong, and jerks. Some of them hated black kids, others hated non-Asians, and still others hated narcs, but they all had size and strength in common. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, given the amount of steroids in use, I feel like the drug kids were probably the most popular members of the football team. Half of our victories were probably thanks to them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pushed that annoyance aside as a member of the football team “accidentally” knocked me into a locker. I let out a laugh just in case he was doing it to be funny, knowing that trying to protest would only egg him on. Luckily, he was too busy talking on his phone to notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hundred tiny conversations like his were going on as I moved through the halls, from talk about cape fights to discussion of fashion. Most of it flowed off me like water off Narwhal’s back, but I did keep an ear out for subjects I could join in on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, I heard a familiar voice talking about a certain song I had spent the night listening to, and a smile split my face as I stealthily moved in that direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, the song was okay and their costumes were cool,” Madison said, shrugging and adjusting her backpack as a dozen others nodded along. “But what really matters is that the money they made off it goes to people who were victims of the Simurgh. That’s like...a really important charity. People having to suffer like that is wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! I’ve seen the pictures online and their clothing is so gauche and last decade,” Emma scoffed, and Madison looked down as her cheeks reddened at the indirect rebuke. Emma threw some hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “They’d better spend that money on better costumes before their next release, or they won’t last a month. Also, what’s with the lead singer’s accent?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now’s my chance. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“It’s actually a funny story,” I blurted, “her parents were born in Leeds, in the UK, but she was raised in New Jersey for most of her life. She has a Yorkshire accent that she’s learned to cover up, but every now and then it sneaks out along with a slight twang that her singing coach imparted upon her.” I paused, taking a breath. Their silence as they all turned to face me gave me the motivation I needed to continue. “I watched an interview with her coach, and he said that he actually had to send her to a different voice coach a year back because his Texas accent had somehow slipped into her own singing and it was making people say exactly what Emma did. It’s very fascinating!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, it may seem odd to most that I had just butted into a conversation, spat out a bunch of info rapid fire, and was only stopping when the lack of oxygen in my lungs forced me to. That’s probably because most people had </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Since I lacked friends, I’d learned to take more drastic measures and just kind of...sneak into conversations. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Greg,” many would say, “why not start out small and make tiny contributions to a discussion? Why risk the alienation and disgust that comes from blathering out words nonstop like a laser printer created by Uber and Leet that time they did a robbery based off Typing of the Dead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The answer was simple: Quantity over quality, because all it took was one win. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With my reputation, I wanted to give people as many chances to like me in one go. It’s like how some people played paintball and were good enough to hit their target with only a few squeezes of the trigger, while others (like me) needed every paintball in the gun to have a chance at hitting anything. Spray and pray!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of hitting things, it was at this point that a hand landed on my shoulder, and I’m pretty sure my eyes sparkled a bit as I began to think that I had finally succeeded.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is it! Someone’s about to agree with me and ask me to continue. Those hours of listening to accents and researching the band online were worth it! I’ve struck gold!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of striking things, that hand on my shoulder immediately shoved me and I practically flew through the air. I actually think my feet left the ground for a moment, and then someone caught me. Whoever they were, before I could turn around and thank them, I found myself falling down like a sack of bricks. I saw a pair of legs step away from me, and realized they hadn’t so much caught me as had me fly into them and then deliberately </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> caught me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lying on my back, I looked to my right and saw that the thrower had been Julia North, who was now laughing at me with everyone else. The one who’d chosen not to catch me was Sophia Hess, beloved Winslow Track Star and Emma’s bestie. Emma said something to her, pointing at me, but Sophia just rolled her eyes and walked away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Guess I’m not worth her time anymore. A bully gave up on me after a few months. Victory?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to get back up, but Julia shoved me back down as the laughter grew. A second try was no more effective, and even glances at other nerdy-looking students showed me only laughing faces. I wasn’t surprised at that, admittedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite there being three categories of Popular People, there was only one for people like me: Outcasts. It was a title that stuck like glue, with only the rarest of outcasts managing to slide into a new category. Going from nothing to something is as unlikely as a horse becoming a unicorn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For example, I used to eat lunch with a fellow outcast named Allen. We rarely talked, but that was mostly because he barely said more than a few words a day, loved to read, and was only left alone because his brother was on the football team. Even the E88 kids left him alone, despite his skin color, because he had connections. Then one summer his brother helped him get totally ripped, he came back to school as a Strong kid, and made it onto the football team. After that, he had friends galore and his outcast past was forgotten entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outcasts don’t fit into the other three categories, and so it was open season on us because we didn’t really support each other. We knew better than to fight back, so we usually just kept our heads down and gave them the responses they wanted (you pushed me into the toilet, haha, so funny) and hoped they moved on to someone else. Worse, we turned on each other like rats in a sinking ship, and would gladly join in on the teasing and bullying of others to avoid the same fate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Case in point, as I finally made it to my feet I was nearly knocked down yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span> by a blond girl behind me. She hung out with the Empire kids, and I think her name was...Cassie or Tammi? She already used to get in trouble all the time for her attitude, but a few weeks ago she must have done something to piss her friends off. Suddenly, they started ragging on her, which just goes to show that the only thing worse than a nazi is a nazi teenager.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, after nearly knocking me down and stomping on me, she sneered at me (her favorite expression) and called me a very bad word. That made the popular kids laugh even harder, and then the bell rang. With the threat of class on the horizon, they started to clear out.  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just another morning at Winslow...and I haven’t even been to my locker yet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That pretty much set the tone for the rest of the day, which blurred by as time passed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Winter Break was nigh, so we all got some easy homework projects, and some of us (like me) did it in class since we didn’t have anyone to talk to. Lunch was nasty and may have actually been a science experiment gone wrong. The teachers all told us to be safe, but nobody really paid attention to them. Then one of my favorite classes of the day (Computers) came, and things really started to look up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All it took was me spending most of the period trying to join in yet another conversation. I knew I was just asking for trouble, but without Sophia and Julia around I figured that at least this time I wouldn’t be getting knocked onto the ground. I’m pretty sure that even Mrs. Knott, our dear computer sciences teacher, wouldn’t allow that. She ran a pretty tight ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, I overheard Emma chatting with someone about a party she was attending, and how they just had to make sure they had enough drinks for everyone. Being a gentleman with several coupons for 2-liters of soda (thanks to my frequent purchases of gas station comic books), I waited until she took a breath and then kindly offered to bring some. It was so smooth that she was stunned into silence. Then her face turned red and she started to raise her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, you pasty-faced little…” Emma paused, seeing that Mrs. Knott had looked up from her romance novel and frowned in our direction. Emma closed her eyes for a moment, and then let out a little giggle and shook her head. “You know what? Sure. Why not. It’ll be a party you’ll never forget. Give me your number, and I’ll text you the address later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried not to let the surprise show on my face, and just wrote out my phone number on a bit of paper and handed it over. Sure, my hand shook so much that I had to grab my arm with my other hand so she could take the paper, but I think I played it off well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of class I was walking on air, barely able to finish the assignment. I kept glancing over at Emma, so certain that this was going to turn out to be a prank, but she just kept chatting with friends and looking at what seemed to be a map of Brockton Bay. She saw me looking at her and smiled back a few times, and I got a warm feeling in my body as I realized that all my efforts had finally paid off. It was like playing the lottery...all it took was one win to be a winner!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hours later, as I was walking from my locker to the front door, a hand grabbed my arm. I whirled around expecting another jock...but instead I only saw Taylor Hebert. She was frowning, her long dark hair framing a face that looked equal parts determined and annoyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor? What did I do this time? Why would she even bother to talk to me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>We had a...complicated relationship, the two of us. Well, maybe that’s not entirely true. We didn’t really have a relationship at all, honestly. Back in the day I thought that she was a cape geek like me, and I was always trying to talk with her about all manner of subjects and people. It was fun, because she always seemed to see an angle I didn’t, and that made for amazing conversations. We were just two skinny, gawky teens, outcasts who were actually kinda-friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as always, I sabotaged myself, and in this case it was my anxiety that did me in. I was constantly worried that Taylor was going to get tired of being my friend, afraid that she would move on or that I’d do something to piss her off. While I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I was being silly and overthinking it, back then...I panicked, and ruined my happiest pseudo-friendship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started becoming overly clingy, talking to her all the time, constantly trying to chat about everything from capes to videogames, even when she wasn’t interested. I gave her gifts, tips, websites, movie suggestions, and more. I started trying to spend more time with her, slipping into group projects with her so that she wouldn’t get bored of me, and even trying to get her to meet me out of school. In short, I was a creep, and the harder I flailed the more reasons she had to stay away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when Taylor grabbed my arm that day, it was a surprise to me. Apparently it was a surprise to other people too, because several other kids stopped to watch. Maybe they all wanted another of the many examples of Taylor shooting me down to brighten their day? Well, too bad for them, because I was walking on clouds and had no interest in starting anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, I heard about Emma. She’s just messing with you,” Taylor said, leaning in a bit. Her voice sounded rough, like she hadn’t used it in a while. “You shouldn’t have given her your number. She’s just a bully, and only wants to hurt you. I may not like you...but nobody deserves...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I knew just like everyone else that Emma, Sophia, and Madison had made it their mission to mess with Taylor for a year now, but like I said before...the outcasts didn’t really stick together. It’s dumb, I know, but the thought of bringing their wrath down on me by trying to stand up for her made me afraid. Rather than take her warning, though, I reacted with confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you talking about? Is this because you want to go to her party as well?” I looked around, and speak of the devil, there was Emma smiling innocently nearby. “You guys used to be friends, right? I’m pretty sure if you come with me she’ll be okay with it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Taylor twisted her backpack’s straps in one hand and glared at me. I could see a hundred little stains of all different colors on her backpack, wondering to myself where they all came from. It had been brand new just a few months ago...was this all from the girls pranking her? Taylor shook her head and tried again, speaking slowly. “I was her friend, but that just means I know her better than you. This isn’t her trying to be your friend. You need to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, now, Taylor, don’t go filling Greg’s head with more of your lies and stories.” Emma moved in, shoving Taylor a bit and then smirking as the other girl failed to retaliate. I was tempted to say something, one hand already reaching up, but the beauty before me took it in one of her hands (soft, but with such sharp fingernails) and started dragging me away. “C’mon Greg, let’s leave this loser to stew in her juices. She already smells like she’s been doing it all week. Her clothes are practically falling apart, she hasn’t washed them in so long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The class laughed, and I heard one of the other girls say something unflattering about Taylor’s hair, causing more laughter. Another comment came, this one about her shoes, and more laughter. Then I realized they were all looking at me, and the terrifying specter of Peer Pressure began to bore into my very soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha, yeah.” I smiled nervously, then kept talking as I saw Emma’s face light up with a smile. Emboldened by a sudden confidence and shoving down the part of me that had always hated when outcasts turned on each other, I raised my voice. “S-she’s got more stains on her clothes than...than on that ratty backpack of hers!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma laughed, as did everyone else. Except for Taylor. She just stared at me, almost hurt, as if this whole thing had been my fault, and pushed through the crowd to get away. Someone tripped her, but she caught herself on a locker and kept going. I wanted to go after her, but Emma’s hand held me back. It was like being part of a group, like having friends…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...and all I had to do was hurt someone who used to be a friend to get it. Is this even worth it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That day, I went home with an address on my phone from Emma. It also meant that I now had Emma’s phone number, and she had even given me a hug as we parted. It made the feeling of being a Grade-A creep and jackass slightly less painful. Just barely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I made a mental note to apologize to Taylor on Monday, but then remembered that our Winter Break started tomorrow and that I wouldn’t see her again for 2 weeks. Well, maybe by then she would have forgotten? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she’d recognize that I was in a tough situation, and as a fellow outcast she should just let me have this little moment of happiness? Was I really so bad? Didn’t I deserve to be happy sometimes, even if the cost was higher than I had expected?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite my attempts to rationalize my actions, my inner voice wasn’t so forgiving.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe before I try to understand my classmates, I need to figure out people.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***********</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg dabbles in foreign languages, takes up jogging for his health, has the worst day of his life, and gets all tuckered out trying not to die.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edited 9Sept2020: Made sure this matched Arc 2 better. Improved descriptions of Dad, Mom, and George. Also, I started to integrate Greg’s inner monologue and self doubt in italics. Call it a conscience, call it his self-doubt, call it whatever you want. Since it’s happening now, pre-Trigger, it’s unlikely to be mistaken for a Shard or anything. If nothing else, it lets me better explain why he starts to improve as the story goes on, since it represents his gut feelings.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. 1.2: Understanding Exercise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Italics Note: The lines in italics are still Greg’s self-doubt, gut feelings, and inner monologue. I had someone asking me if that was his power talking to him, and wanted to be clear that it’s not.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve never been the most fit person in the world. I think a lot of that has to do with my actual lifestyle, more than anything else. I made videos, played games, read a lot, and lived a generally sedentary lifestyle. If it weren’t for the great genetics I got from my parents, I probably would have been a lot worse...but they were still the foundation.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s taken me a long time to understand it, but I’m starting to realize that my mistake has been assuming that I’d never need to be stronger, faster, or tougher than I am. That there’d never come a point where I needed to escape (be faster), lift something heavy (be stronger), or weather a difficult situation (be tougher). So I never tried.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That all changed the night I triggered. I was too slow, too weak, and too cowardly. If I’d been stronger, then things never would have gone the way they did. On the other hand, if I’d been stronger, then I wouldn’t have needed something like this to motivate me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Friday Night, Dec 17, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, after school I spent several hours picking the perfect outfit and practicing pickup lines for the many girls I expected to meet there. I mean, it was my first party ever, so it paid to be prepared. Clad in my lucky underwear and a cool jacket (and other clothes, of course), I set out for the party. I was so nervous that I missed my bus, but had left an extra hour early just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was only halfway down the sidewalk when I started to worry, though. If I hadn’t known any better, I might have started thinking that this was an Empire 88 neighborhood. The PRT had been making huge strides in cracking down on them lately, and I told myself that this was just one of the blocks that they’d once had a heavier presence in. Before they started getting so much resistance, I mean.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Many people in Brockton Bay had been surprised to notice in recent weeks that the parahumans of the nazi gang were appearing less often. Sure, they still tangled with the PRT and ABB all the time, but they weren’t exactly walking around in public as much as a year ago. As a result, the civilian side of the gang had been forced to be more careful in their activities, a net positive for Brockton Bay as a whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The PRT claimed it was all because of an ongoing pressure campaign, but every time they started to brag like that a bank would get robbed or one of Brockton Bay’s few synagogues would get set on fire by Rune or Crusader. So, they were still obviously here, but maybe this was because of some infighting? Perhaps someone was challenging Kaiser for leadership?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, back to the present, I tried my best not to think about the danger I was potentially in. I always overthought things anyway, and I was seeing Asian, Black, and other people all around me, so maybe it was just graffiti? I told myself it was an ex-E88 place, and they kept tagging it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That in mind, I took a deep breath and approached the address Emma had given me. It was a solid apartment building with gang tags all over the place, but seemed to be in good shape. I mean, if you ignored all the swastikas and racial slurs on the walls. Damn E88.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was already here, and there was music coming from inside, so I went ahead and moved forward. I climbed the stairs, juggled my sodas for a few moments, and then carefully knocked on the door. After nearly a minute of silence, I tried again with my foot. Much harder this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” I heard a voice from inside, the music turning down a notch as someone pressed up against the door from the other side. The voice was slightly accented, but I couldn’t quite figure out the origin. After last night’s research, I could tell it wasn’t someone from the UK, at least. “What the hell do you want, dude?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here for the...uh...party?” Great, my voice cracked. I shook my head and cleared my throat, trying a second time. This time I nearly shouted, deepening my voice a bit. “Party time!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His reply was not to open the door and let me in, welcoming me with open arms. Instead it was a certain four-letter word that I do my best not to use. Mom grounded me for a week after I screamed it (due to stubbing my toe) years back, at my cousin’s 10th birthday party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worried, I texted Emma about my issues getting in the front door, and waited calmly (panicking the whole time) for her reply. Luckily, she got back to me pretty fast, texting me with the same phone number she’d sent the address from. I guess she had multiple accounts, because it was a different phone number than the one I thought she had. She was even using a screen name I didn’t recognize, “RedHerring” for some reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, it was a quick conversation: </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Here. Door guy won’t let me in.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>RedHerring</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>New phone, who dis?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>ROFLMAO. But seriously tho.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>RedHerring</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Door guy’s foreign and doing a password thing. He’s Jewish, so it’s Hebrew.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kk, what’s the password? I dunno Hebrew.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>RedHerring</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, it’s the start of the Sabbath, so say: “Shabbat Shalom”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>What’s it mean?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>RedHerring</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Something like, “Greetings my Jewish brother.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Um, but I’m not Jewish?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>RedHerring</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, don’t tell him that! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>RedHerring</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>I mean, if you want to just leave…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>NONONONO. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sorry caps. No, I’m cool, I can play it off.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>RedHerring</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, you’re smart. That’s why we invited you.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>RedHerring</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re in the basement, hurry up!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>C U soon</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>RedHerring</b>
  <span>: </span>
  <em>
    <span>&lt;3</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That little heart warmed me up a bit, and I practiced the words a few times before kicking the door again. When I heard the dude groan and lean on the door again I loudly yelled the password. I guess it worked, because I heard metal on metal almost immediately. The music turned way down, and in mere moments a blond head poked out of the door as it cracked open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you say, boy?” The guy was a few years older than me, and had a nasty scar on the side of his face. He opened the door a bit more and stepped outside, and I could see at least a few other guys behind him along with what looked like a few ladies. He closed the door, and placed one hand behind his back as he leaned on the door. “I didn’t quite hear you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shabbat Shalom, brother!” I repeated, a smile on my face as I held the sodas up. I made sure to say it slowly, and then repeated myself when he cocked his head to the side. I wondered if he wasn’t a fan of the sodas I had brought, and was tempted to ask about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That temptation vanished when the hand behind his back whipped out, and something shiny slammed into my stomach. Well, it would have hit my stomach, but there were soda bottles in the way. I immediately dropped them all, my eyes flashing up to the guy as he began to shout and spit at me in a language that sounded a lot like German. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, German language. Empire 88 neighborhood. Got mad at a guy speaking Hebrew.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with those thoughts dawning on me, my attention was drawn to the ground. It almost looked like someone had buried a knife in a 2-liter bottle of soda. A knife that the angry guy was bending down to pull out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A bottle of soda just saved my life. That’s...something alright. Time to go!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he stood back up, I was already halfway down the street. Looking back, I could see him starting to chase after me, and I decided to duck into an alley. Movies had convinced me that doing so was the best way to lose a tail, and there was no reason to doubt them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, I’ve never been one for running, jogging, or really any kind of physical fitness, but damn if I didn’t give it my all to escape my murderous new pal...let’s call him Knife Guy. Unfortunately, he showed no signs of giving up anytime soon, since every time I turned a corner, hopped a car hood, or ran into another alley he was right there at the edge of my vision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vision, by the way, that was starting to blur as my lungs reminded me that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Running </span>
  </em>
  <span>really wasn’t something in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg Veder Skill List</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s too bad that my </span>
  <em>
    <span>Diplomacy </span>
  </em>
  <span>skill had already critically failed, or else I might have been able to try that again. You, know, if all my air wasn’t going towards keeping my muscles and brain from shutting down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, I kept at it, because by the time calling for help entered my mind it had become a choice between “call for help and hope someone does so before Knife Guy stabs me” and “keep running because Knife Guy wants to stab me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as I was starting to consider “hide in a trashcan” he kind of...vanished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stopped in an alley, leaning against a brick wall and breathing so hard that all I could hear were my lungs screaming at me, my heart hammering in my ears, and...shouting? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, shouting means people. People I can talk to and warn of a knife-wielding nazi. So...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I stumbled in the direction of the shouting, my brain so starved for oxygen that I was pretty sure that was the only reason I hadn’t pulled my phone out as well. At the very least, it was in the opposite direction from where I’d last seen Knife Guy, so I was still running (slowly) away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around the corner and down another alley, I came across a spectacular and (admittedly) fairly common sight: A cape fight. Brockton Bay’s got capes for days, and I don’t think a week goes by without the Wards taking down gang members, the ABB poking the PRT, or the E88 pulling off a big job or ‘sending a message’ to stay relevant and keep us all afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite having just been chased by a Knife-wielding maniac, I also knew better than to interfere in a fight between capes. They were barely a hundred feet away in the middle of the street, so it was like having seats on the 50-yard line at a football game (not that I’ve ever been to one).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was a matchup I hadn’t seen before, Armsmaster vs. Crusader. Also there were some guys in security outfits, but they were hiding behind an armored car nearby, so they didn’t really count as threats. From what I could see, Crusader had attacked an armored car and was using his powers to rob it, but was having trouble doing that and fighting off Armsmaster at the same time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were PRT guys at either end of the street and even some security guards (probably from the armored car) standing nearby, but none of them were interfering. I guess maybe they came to the same conclusion I had. They also kept looking up, and I heard someone shouting from above, so I started to creep forward a bit to get a better angle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I got a bit closer I could see that Crusader, the armored Empire 88 member who could summon ghostly versions of himself, was using half of them to fight Armsmaster and the other half to try and carry bags of money out of the armored car. He was holding his own, but seemed to be getting tired from having to resummon the ghosts every few moments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reason for his resummoning was Armsmaster, the ever-efficient Tinker and leader of the local Protectorate branch, resplendent in his awesome blue power armor. He was easily using his cool techno-halberd to deflect attacks from the ghostly projections and their ghostly spears, as well as finding time to fire small projectiles at a few of the money-grabbing ghosts.  At this rate, another few minutes and he’d beat Crusader just by letting the guy exhaust himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like you should have stayed home, Crusader!” Apparently I wasn’t the only one thinking that, as a voice from above called out and made me look up. There was someone crouching on the edge of a building on the other side of the street. Maybe two stories up, sitting on the edge with a uniformed security guard’s neck in his huge hand, was a man in a metal mask. “Just say the word, and I’ll drop this bitch and turn Armsmuncher into metal shavings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hookwolf, Empire 88 Lieutenant and Verified chainsaw wolf, was watching over this fight like some guy at Seaworld watching seals do tricks. There was a short woman in a security guard outfit up there with him, his hand clamped around the back of her neck as he watched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all started to fall into place for me. He had grabbed a hostage, hopped on the roof, and was keeping the PRT, security guards, and Armsmaster at bay by threatening to hurt her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you had helped me in the first place, we’d already be gone!” Crusader yelled back, taking his eyes off Armsmaster for a moment. “You aren’t even supposed to be out here, you idiot! Stop messing around and go. I’ve got this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armsmaster took advantage of his distraction to take out two more ghosts and close in on the armored nazi. After that, it became a battle of dodges, swings, and some really cool moves that almost made me forget that I had been trying to warn them of a knife-wielding nazi who was chasing me. It had only been a minute, but I had enough breath to call for help now, and I took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was promptly used to let out a gasp as Hookwolf dropped the security guard. I’d always thought he was kind of interesting, even if he was a villain, but seeing him casually murder someone like that right in front of me was horrifying. Who could ever like something like that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was able to see why she’d been dropped. With Hookwolf distracted by the fight, someone had crept up behind him and struck him in the back of the head. Already I could see the man starting to Change, turning around...but my eyes were locked on the falling security guard.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t just let her die! But what can I even do? I’m nothing, too far away, too weak.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily for both of us (but mostly her), a red blur collided with her in midair, and moments later I could see that Assault had caught her safely. She began to babble and sob, holding onto the man, and that made it easier for him to dodge out of the way as Hookwolf came down from above. There had been a mighty impact, and now his attacker was revealed to be Battery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glared down at him from the rooftop, already starting to glow as she prepared to attack the Changer. He glanced at Crusader, saw his fellow nazi losing, and must have decided that this wasn’t worth his time. So he started to escape down an alley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately for me, it was my alley. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no!” I choked out a feeble cry, turning and trying to stumble backwards. Hookwolf was coming right at me, his left arm already a nightmare of hooks and blades, and I saw him start to smile as he got ever closer. “Please d-don’t...no!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked around for escape, but I was trapped on both sides and hiding in the pile of trash to my left would only make my death a smelly one. I desperately looked to Battery, Assault, and Armsmaster, but they were engaged with Crusader, who was going all-out to cover his teammate’s escape. They were all so close, and yet completely useless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I realized that I was going to die, I felt my life flash before my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was...pretty disappointing, to be honest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spent most of my life just existing. No big dreams that I hadn’t given up on. No parents who cared about me. No brother to have my back. No accomplishments for my obituary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last thing I had said to my parents was that I was responsible, and now I was getting killed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last conversation I’d had with my brother was to make fun of his job, and he’d told me off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last words I had said to the closest thing I had to a friend, Taylor...a girl who I had driven away and had still reached out to me...had been to make fun of her. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to die now, and nobody will care. Nobody will even know. I was nothing. Nobody.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I stared, Hookwolf so close that I could count the individual hooks on his left arm, see the hairs on his other arm glisten in the light, and hear him laughing about something. I was weeping, sniveling, sobbing, like a child. I closed my eyes, and took one last breath as I tried to dodge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt a terrible impact, and was sent flying into the same trash I’d seen earlier. It closed over me, but my arms were grasped tightly around the horrible pain he’d inflicted on my torso. I could feel my sludgy innards spilling out of me, around me, and I panicked and started to hyperventilate.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m bleeding! All this is coming out of me...my organs, my blood...I’m going to die.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As I lay dying in the trash, all my fluids soaking my clothes, I cried and cursed myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I just watched them, watched their powers, because they were everything to me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had always felt small and worthless, and now I was dying. Alone. It was my fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t even dig myself out, my hands are the only thing holding me together! I’m scared.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I heard someone coming and let out a strangled cry, afraid to move, but they ran right past me. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Armsmaster, Battery, and Assault...all three ran right by me without even a glance. Not a word.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The heroes I adored had ignored me, a villain I had found interesting had killed me. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course they would abandon me. Saving me would do nothing. Catching him is better.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d always dreamed of being a guy who understood parahumans, and what made them special.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I just wanted to be someone like them, who was worthy of praise and respect.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone who could make friends, bring people together, and learn from them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone who made enemies into friends, fixed his life and theirs...and was brave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone who could change, and learn from his mistakes instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>dying</span>
  </em>
  <span> from them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone who isn’t me. I’m sorry Mom, Dad, George. I’m...so...sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As my exhaustion and panic finally overtook me, I closed my eyes and felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I felt nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I woke up in the trash, and it took me a minute to realize I wasn’t dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I certainly smelled like it, and it was only after I pulled myself out of the trash that I realized something far more important. The lack of a gaping wound on my chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why don’t I have a huge gaping wound on my chest? Didn’t Hookwolf hit me? Wait, did I...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was fuzzy, but from the shape of the bruise covering my chest, it looked like the fleeing nazi had actually hit me with his non-blade arm. I’d been thrown into the trash, buried by it, and then had weeks of rotten garbage spill all over my body and clothing. It had felt nasty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I swore to never tell anyone that I’d mistaken what smelled like someone’s week-old takeout, maggots, and whatever this green stuff was for my own blood and internal organs. That I’d been so scared, I had been as easily fooled as one of those kids who went to haunted houses and mistook a bowl of grapes for actual eyeballs. The important thing was, I was alive!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I carefully made my way out of the alley, finding that I had almost acclimated to the horrible smell after a few moments. Maybe it was just built-in teenager abilities, or the fact that my own room was a pigsty and I just had a reduced sensitivity to stinky things. Either way, as the dizziness started to fade, I did my best to figure out which was home. Maybe I could ask for help?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently the universe had decided that I hadn’t suffered enough for one night, because after only a few minutes of tracing somewhat familiar streets and alleys, I found myself back where I’d started. Which also meant that I was unfortunate enough to run into a familiar face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s the cowardly Jew!” Knife Guy shouted, having been sitting on the front steps of his place with a few of what I was pretty sure were more E88 kids. He started to walk towards me, drawing out his namesake and pointing it at me. “I think you owe me some money for wasting my time, boy. Also for stinking up this block with your-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pulled out my wallet, ripped the money Dad had given me out of it, and threw it in his direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I took off running. It was dumb...but as a teenager who had nearly died to this guy earlier and a much more dangerous parahuman version of him a bit later on, I focused on escape. This wasn’t the time for negotiation, reason, or pleading...it was time for running.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the plus side, none of his friends followed us, so I didn’t need to worry about them cutting me off or something. On the other hand, one nazi was more than enough for a kid like me, because after only a few blocks he was close enough that I could hear his breath over my own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I glanced back, seeing Knife Guy about 10 feet behind me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Had I seriously survived </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hookwolf</span>
  </em>
  <span> only to get knifed on the sidewalk? Even after everything else, I still pushed myself to hold on. I could see a park just a few blocks ahead, and knew that if I could reach it I might be able to lose Knife Guy by...I dunno, climbing a tree or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, what’s that noise? Kind of a crackling, tapping noise. It sounds like that video I saw of...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt like the light of heaven was shining down on me as I looked past Knife Guy and saw a red-suited figure blur in our direction. In mere moments, running right alongside us, was the Protectorate’s own Velocity, jogging normally as if he was merely out for a stroll. Racing stripes ran down his suit and met on his chest in a V, and he gave a little wave. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I must be hallucinating. It actually looks like the light of heaven is shining on him. He’s glowing!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nice to see you kids jogging along, but don’t stay out too late. E88’s active tonight,” he greeted us, missing the weapon Knife Guy was now hiding in his sleeve. I desperately tried to speak, but my lungs had long since given up. I let out a wheeze and motioned at Knife Guy, but Velocity mistook it as a wave and returned the gesture. “Hello. Well, I’m off. Have a good night, boys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he started to speed off, I felt like the life just went out of me. Velocity sped away in a blur, and I reached out, as if I could grab him and pull him back. His help, even for a moment would have been the difference between life and death for me. But I hadn’t even managed to ask for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just once...I wish things could go my way. Even when success is in reach, I screw it up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt an emptiness in me, bigger than ever before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even now I could see Velocity like he was a glowing brand, a burning light in the darkness compared to the guttering candle that was Greg Veder. Unlike me he wasn’t fading...he just kept burning bright no matter how far away he got. I could almost still feel his warmth, as if I could just reach out and touch his power. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was so close I could have touched him. Even now, I feel like I can still grab him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I daydreamed about reaching for him with an arm that was a hundred feet long, grabbing at him and pulling just a bit of his capability and success...pulling it back to me. The thought, the dream, warmed me inside. It was like one of those times where you wake up, and aren’t sure whether real life or the dream was reality. I felt like maybe I could still win...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and then Velocity turned the corner, and his light was gone. Too late. Some part of my brain felt like he was still right here, but that was just my wishful thinking. All I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt was Knife Guy’s breath on the back of my neck, a burning pain inside me, and the last bits of my adrenaline surging as panic began to set in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt a burning in my gut, spreading through my whole body. It overtook my pain, my sadness, my everything...and even as my arms and legs got heavy and my organs felt like they were turning to stone, some part of me refused to give up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With every ounce of motivation, fear, and willpower I had, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth and gave one...</span>
  <em>
    <span>last</span>
  </em>
  <span>...</span>
  <b>push</b>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt something explode around me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I opened my eyes, I saw the world blurring around me. I was deafened by air blasting past my ears, and I couldn’t breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My feet hurt. My legs hurt. My chest hurt. Everything hurt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t see! I couldn’t hear! I felt like I was falling sideways and down and up all at once!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tripped somehow, and knew that I was about to eat pavement or headbutt the curb. Instead, against all odds, it was like I was skimming along on the world’s greatest waterslide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slowly slid to a halt, and found myself blinking up at the stars and moon, but there were...empty branches in the way? Everything was quiet, and even knowing that Knife Guy could appear at any moment...I couldn’t stop myself from just wheezing and heaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m done. Body dead. Brain dead. Stick a fork in me. Just lie here and let him kill me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing my eyes, I focused on breathing and getting my heart rate down. It was hammering like it was going to burst out of my chest. Breathing hurt, but I managed to slow myself down enough until it was less agony and more...really painful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After minutes that felt like hours, I slowly rolled over and stood up. I then immediately collapsed to the ground again. Okay, going to have to take it slower. I carefully crawled across the ground, to a nearby tree that someone had left in the middle of this green street, leaned against it, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was I in a forest? I looked around, my eyes finally adjusting without any streetlights, and saw that I was indeed in a wooded area. Was this the park I had been looking at a minute ago? The one a few blocks away? That meant...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked around, and indeed, a few blocks away from me was a street and some streetlights. I could just barely make out a tall blond guy with something shiny in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should be happy, now that I’m safe, but all I can think about now is...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Through some strange confluence of fate and justice, Greg Veder finally had super powers! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no other explanation for how I’d managed to teleport from a few blocks away and escape Knife Guy just before he had been able to kill me. This was amazing news!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing my eyes as the dizziness continued, I pulled myself up to my feet using a tree, wincing as I felt muscles I didn’t know I had screaming at me. Apparently I still needed more practice using my power, but time was something I had plenty of. Plus, as a Class-S Cape Geek, I had a wealth of knowledge, information, and skill at my hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Teleportation! Wow! This was like winning a power lottery, and pretty soon I’d be rubbing shoulders with people like Strider! Plus, it meant that I didn’t need to ever worry about plane tickets or cars ever again. The possibilities were endless, and if I weren’t already dizzy from all the oxygen deprivation and stuff I probably would have started jumping around and cheering.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, am I really sure that this is teleportation? Eh, I can think about it later. Celebrate now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Just for the heck of it, I tried a little hop and a cheer, but pain from many places (both internal and external) told me that was a bad idea. Instead, I took a slow and deep breath, groaning slightly as even my chest told me not to mess with it right now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt a bit dizzy and turned around, but managed to catch my balance before falling over. No, I could do this. I was going to limp home, put ice packs all over my body, eat my weight in pizza, and then get to work on my new life as a hero. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today may have been tough, but I could take it. I was truly a man now!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I opened my still-blurry eyes, and took my first step forward into my new life as a hero, responsible adult, and all around great guy!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and immediately collapsed, scraping my face against a tree on the way down. I didn’t even feel it, which really should have told me that something was wrong. I couldn’t even catch myself this time, landing in a bush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In retrospect, I should have realized that after running several miles on an empty stomach, going through all my adrenaline supply, and teleporting so hard I nearly died, there would be some costs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the world faded to black, I made a mental note to work on my cardio.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: They say the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. Since Mouse Protector doesn’t show up until Arc 3, that probably means Greg’s carefully-laid plans are about to crash and burn. It’s one thing to daydream about what you’d do with powers, but another thing entirely to have them...and realize the danger of following through!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edits 9Sept2020: As much as I loved kneecapping the E88, it was causing me way too many butterflies and brain-pain trying to make work. Add in the way I rewrote his trigger event to be more canon-compliant, and a lot of this chapter got a rewrite. </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. 1.3: Understanding My Plans</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I started keeping a Secret Journal because of the pain I endured the day after I triggered. Pain that came from realizing how dumb I’d been, how mistaken about myself, and how foolish I’d been to trust only my own thoughts and dreams over what reality had been trying to teach me all along.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I had just wallowed in those thoughts, spiraling ever downward into my own self-loathing, then that would have been it for my dreams of being a hero. But that’s not what happened. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Instead, as I wrote the very first journal entry I began to realize that things weren’t as bad as they’d seemed at the time. As each consecutive thought went onto the page, I was able to examine my feelings and see that I was blowing things out of proportion. That I could pick myself back up, try again, do it better, and that quitting wouldn’t solve anything. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In a nutshell, I learned to handle disappointment because I was able to express myself and look back at how I’d felt before...and figure out how to improve because of it. I know it sounds easy, but with my anxiety even writing it down felt like I was exposing my deepest fears. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope that someday I trust someone enough to share it. Maybe even talk to someone, and have them talk back with good advice and ideas. A friend, a family member, a therapist...someday, when people have my back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s off in the future, thought. Right now, it’s just me, and I’m going to keep trying things, no matter how much I’m afraid of what will happen.. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because if I don’t try, I can’t potentially fail. If I don’t fail, I can’t learn to do better.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Unfortunately, Saturday was a day where I failed a lot...but I’m stronger for it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because I was able to realize </span>
  </em>
  <span>why</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, Dec 18, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I woke up to sizzling pain in my eyes, and rolled over to clap my hands to my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This actually caused more pain, but not from my eyes this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a minute, but eventually I calmed down and realized what had happened. Nature’s version of a laser knife, a beam of sunlight, had cut through the trees above me, as well as my corneas. Some injury on my face had flared up when I clapped both hands over my eyes, making things worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My nap had restored my stamina a bit, but that was one of the few positives. I was sore all over, my clothes were muddy and torn, I had what felt like splinters in my face, and I had just slapped myself in that very same face. Last night had been...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. Last night? Oh crap, last night! How could I forget...I’m a parahuman now!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I rolled to my feet and leapt into the air, thrusting both arms up as I let out a strangled cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strangled, of course, because I had also forgotten that last night I’d wrecked myself running for my life (twice!), apparently teleporting 3 blocks, and then collapsing face-first into a tree before passing out. Still, I tried to put a positive spin on it, realizing that at least now I knew my limits.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Massive exhaustion is something I’m just going to have to get used to, now that I’m a hero!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, after a small amount of groaning and wheezing, I managed to lean up against a tree (the same one that had slapped me) and took stock of my situation. I did so mostly by examining my body, stretching and straining body parts, and making hissing noises as I rolled up sleeves and pant legs to examine myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the plus side, the only parts of me that had actual bruising were my face and legs, though I could feel several scrapes and itchy grass stains on my back. Glancing in the direction I’d come from, I could actually see a line that traveled for about sixty feet through the long grass and had a strange swoopy part halfway through. Normally my shirt and jacket would have protected me, but I’d probably spun at that halfway point and been sliding feet-first after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the minus side, my legs shared those grass stains and were a mess of bruises going from my thighs to my feet. It was easy to see without taking off my pants and shoes, because for some reason the seams on my pants had split and my shoes were...broken, for lack of a better word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, my face felt so bad that I was too afraid to even use my phone to take a picture of it. The whole right side of my face from the forehead to the cheekbone was throbbing, and putting a hand there made it sing with pain. There also seemed to be bits of bark there, and I felt little stabs whenever I poked at it. I probably had more than a few splinters, so for the time being I just decided to deal with it at home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I was examining the damage, I started to wonder what my power actually was. I mean, I was thinking it was teleportation, but now I was wondering if I’d blasted off or gone super-fast. It was tempting to go back to the sidewalk where I’d ‘launched’ from, but I wasn’t sure what I’d do if someone asked me what I was looking for...or how I’d gotten hurt so badly. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, file it away for later. Right now I have to make sure I don’t accidentally flash someone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My shirt and jacket were in bad shape, but luckily I was able to fashion a sort of kilt with my jacket around my waist. It was early enough that there were only a few people even in sight, but it never hurt to be careful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, with my stomach rumbling and my injuries not getting any better, I decided to start the trek home. I say trek because this was no walk in the park. I might have been in a park, but this was a limp at best. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was sore as all heck, so much that even at half speed it felt like a bone was about to pop out of one of my legs. My face throbbed, my back itched (and hurt when I scratched it), and I had no money...so it wasn’t like I could just take a cab. Oh, and my shoes were disintegrating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all that, I was still dancing on clouds and singing with joy (figuratively, of course). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because. I. Had. Parahuman. Powers!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean sure, I’d had to nearly kill myself running for my life from a knife wielding Empire 88 goon, have my life flash before my eyes as I was nearly brain-stabbed in a dark alley, and a large assortment of whining and crying...but it was all worth it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In retrospect, if I’d known that it took this much suffering to get parahuman powers I might have lived a lot less dangerously. Of course, if it became well-known, then helicopter parents would have gotten even worse, and mine probably wouldn’t even have let me leave the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But seriously, what’s up with this whole “suffering gives you superpowers” thing?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>My mind wandered as I limped along, thinking about how people got powers in my favorite fiction. I wasn’t sure if they were any better than this, but they probably hurt a lot less.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why couldn’t it be a special gene in a small number of the population that gave them amazing abilities when activated at puberty? Or maybe older capes recognizing the skills and passions of the younger, non-powered generation and gifting them powers as some sort of elaborate ritual. Maybe eating their hair or drinking their blood, for instance. I mean, yeah it sounded like something out of an anime, but at least that had some kind of rhyme or reason to it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To distract myself from my sore body, and the embarrassment of knowing that people were looking at me like I was cosplaying as a car accident victim, I started to review my plans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back when I was younger, I had made a series of special Plans, capital P, for what I would do if I ever got superpowers. The dreams of a child, now made real by suffering and circumstance!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with all my pain and discomfort, the years-old plans came easily to me...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My first plan was the earliest one I could remember, made the day after some kids at school had teased me for my love of capes. I had been six, and while they’d liked superheroes as well, they always wanted me to play the villain because none of them were friends with me. When I had refused, they’d knocked me over and made me cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On that day, I had sworn revenge, and in a decade since then no bully had ever given me reason to rescind that need to revenge. That was why Plan #1 was:</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Plan #1: Revenge! </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that I had powers, I could finally get back at the bullies in my school, show them that Greg Veder wasn’t someone to mess with. I could beat up all those jerks on the football team, challenge them in front of the whole school and take them out one by one. They’d all rue the day they-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, maybe that’s a bit too far? Exploding teleports probably make a fist fight...dangerous.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t challenge them one on one, or publicly. Yeah, maybe start a bit smaller, with some pranks on the bigger fish? With teleport powers I could still troll the hell out of Sophia, Emma, and Julia, and they’d be so busy trying to figure out who was messing with them that they’d be exhausted in no time. I’d make them pay for...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, does that make me the bully? I’m basically using my power to pick on someone weaker...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t just attack them out of nowhere. I’d have to pick my moment. Wait until they </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>deserved it, like while bullying someone. Oh, that was an idea! I could wait until I saw them picking on Taylor and swoop in, and she’d totally be thankful. I’d be a hero among the outcasts, and Taylor would forgive me and probably-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hold on, would she really forgive me for the way I acted? Is that all it would take?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, I knew from my own very recent experience with Emma that someone suddenly going from mean (or apathetic, in my case) to nice was suspicious as hell. This plan was...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is a terrible plan. Why didn’t I ever realize that before? It’s so full of holes!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In comic books and cartoons, a character would sometimes realize that they were getting off track and slap themselves. In my case I relied on self-recrimination, since I’d always had a talent for putting myself down. I could sometimes ignore it, but now...I actually found myself embracing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, I took a seat on a handy park bench and gently placed my hands on the sides of my head as I looked at my ruined shoes. Ostensibly, I was resting my sore legs, but I was also taking a moment to reflect on </span>
  <b>Plan 1</b>
  <span> without any distractions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For one thing, going straight for revenge would probably out me as a cape in no time. I mean, you don’t just go from skinny loser to strong badass in a few weeks. Anyone would be able to look at me and realize that I was hiding something. Plus, they could just look at all the people being pranked, beaten up, and messed with to see that they all had me in common!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worse, someone might even try to blackmail me, and that could lead to my family getting hurt. Given the number of gangs in Winslow, they might even force me to join one of them. The very thought of being forced into the E88 sickened me. How many more people would be hurt because of that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That wasn’t even including the trouble I’d get in for using my powers on non-capes. Like, jail trouble. Seriously, assaulting someone with a gun was one thing, but throwing a fireball at them was a whole pile of extra felonies and could even get you put in a special prison that you never got out of. Nobody wanted to go to the Birdcage, and this seemed like a sure-fire way to get on the path that would take me there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Self-defense seemed like a nice excuse, but considering how much time I’d spent planning this there was no way I could say I didn’t have means, motive, and opportunity. No, this would have been premeditated...I had seen enough police procedural TV shows to know how this would go.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m spinning myself in circles, trying to avoid thinking about the part that hurts the most.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But what had finally made me stop and want to slap myself was the whole “help Taylor and she’ll forgive me” thing. Even if that wasn’t the most hackneyed plotline in all of entertainment, it completely ignored the fact that </span>
  <em>
    <span>one good deed couldn’t undo a hundred bad ones</span>
  </em>
  <span>! Especially after I’d spent the better part of a year watching her get bullied and not interfering, for fear that they’d do the same to me. Hell, I had even joined in yesterday!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m part of the problem. It has to be something more powerful than just one grand gesture.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had a lot to make up for, and couldn’t just use powers to get out of the hole I’d dug myself into.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m going to have to be better. Not just for her...but for everyone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I was glad that I had considered Plan 1, even if I now understood that it was a terrible plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So many things could have gone wrong. With a smile that hurt, I reflected that following a plan made by a six-year-old probably wasn’t the smartest choice I could have made. I’d have to remember that in the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that determined, and with the understanding that I was not in a good headspace for plans...I climbed to my (still very sore) feet and started walking to the bus stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I got more than a few stares on the bus, and found that looking out the window wasn’t really helping my self esteem. Wanting a distraction, I found my mind wandering to Plan 2. I had created it when I was 12 years old, so it was far more nuanced than simple revenge.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Plan #2: Rebirth!</b>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time I was 12, I had already realized that Greg Veder was a loser at school and that my attempts to reinvent myself online were also doomed for failure. I decided that if I ever got powers I would be best off just starting 100% fresh. Indeed, this was an opportunity to finally toss my old personas away and start anew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today could mark the day that figured out my powers, and practiced them as I beat up criminals and took down the gangs terrorizing Brockton Bay. The ABB, Empire 88, anyone else who dared to challenge law and justice? Greg the creepy loser would be my secret identity, XxVoid_CowboyxX would sing my praises online, and my brand new cape persona would be someone that everyone loved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A cool name, a cool costume, some catch phrases, I could make a new me! I could be whoever I wanted, starting fresh and being a hero that people could look up to! Best of all, the loser known as Greg would actually work out in my favor, since as far as secret identities went he was perfect. The New Me would be so different from Greg that nobody would ever suspect us of being the same person!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Except that he’d still be me. Greg is still Greg, even with powers and a costume.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The bus stopped and I quickly got off, hoping the pain from my legs would distract me from the painful and dream-shattering logic going through my head. I walked down the street, ignoring a blonde jogger who saw my angry (and ravaged) face and gasped loudly at me. Her reaction made it hard, but I struggled to get back into my happy mindset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was a good plan! My parents would see Hero Greg on the news and talk to Normal Greg about how cool this new guy was and ask “Why can’t you be more like that hero?” My brother would be able to reduce his workload making special tech for medical use and instead become my gadget guy! My whole family would love the new hero, and the failures of Greg Veder would just fade into the background as I became a hero 24/7!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But he wouldn’t really be me, would he? He’d just be another mask I wear. I’d still be under it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’d still be the same Greg. Bad plans, stupid decisions, and no friends. Some hero.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I stopped, the jogger swerving around me, and felt like I was going to fall over. I lifted one of my arms and stumbled to the side (luckily not the street side) until I found a brick wall. Soon my arm gave out, and found myself leaning against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay?” The woman just wouldn’t leave me alone, and I just nodded instead of answering her. Rather than leaving, she took that as an opportunity to keep talking. “I just wanted to make sure, because you look kinda...hurt. I know some first aid, I can help if you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine,” I rasped out, turning away from her, and just saying the first thing that came to mind. “It’s just makeup. I was up all night with friends, and didn’t get much sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, it’s really realistic,” she chirped, taking a drink of the tiny water bottle she was carrying. She leaned in, then sniffed. “You really went all the way on this! My boyfriend is always talking about how creative some of his students are, but I’ll bet you put them to shame!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily for me, her phone rang, and I was spared from further questions about my “costume.” She wandered off, chatting with whoever was on the other end of the call, and I took that time to walk around the corner into an alley. With any luck, she’d go away soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her conversation quickly faded from my range of hearing as I found a nice brick wall to lean against and have a minor breakdown.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At least with Plan 1, I would only have ended up in jail. Plan 2 would’ve erased my life entirely.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I slowly slid down it until I was sitting, and hugged my knees to my chest as it hit me just how horrible a life like that would have been. It had seemed so cool when I was a kid, so easy to just start all over and forget about what little I’d built in the past decade or so.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How pitiful am I, to dream of my own parents insulting me just to praise an ideal version of me? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What kind of person imagines just giving up on the life they’ve spent 15 years building in favor of a new one that hasn’t even existed for more than a few hours? One that might not even happen if I couldn’t figure out my powers, or if they turned out to be something lame?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and with those realizations running through my head, Plan #2 died a painful, flaming death. I began to wonder if there was something wrong with me, if I should see a doctor. Like George.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish George was here. He’d know what to do. He always does.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plan #3 burst into life, and I grasped at it as I closed my eyes and rested my forehead on my knees. I ignored the pain from my splinters, thinking instead about all of the many times when George had been right and I had been terribly, embarrassingly, horribly wrong. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Plan #3: What Would George Do?</b>
</p><p>
  <span>He was the responsible one, and Mom and Dad never doubted him for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’d said he was going to take a large course load so he could finish college early and start helping people sooner, they just asked how they could help. When he’d said he’d be taking on a part-time job at Medhall while still working on his doctorate, they offered him his old room in the house. They loved him, always bragging to friends about his skills and knowledge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was never wrong, he never faltered, and his plans always worked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, in the past 24 hours, the only thing I’d managed to do right was escape a nazi, and even that took multiple tries. I’d fallen for a deadly prank, been knocked down by a bully, alienated my only pseudo-friend even more, and blown myself up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, real good job there Greg! You survived! That’d almost be an accomplishment if it weren’t for the fact that (Emma’s prank aside) you were the one who put your own life in danger in the first place. Nobody gets awards for surviving a car accident after they caused it in the first place.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>George would never have fallen for that. Hell, he’d have gotten Emma arrested for trying it.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe George should have been the one to get powers. He’d probably have figured them out right away, and been saving lives alongside the Protectorate within the day. He’d be nationally known by the end of the month, and have a thread on PHO a thousand pages long. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I should call him. His big party was last night, but I’m sure he has some ideas.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Checking my screen, I saw that my phone had gone dead. So now Plan 3 was dead less than a minute after I’d made it. Par for the course with me, I supposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No more plans. It’s time to go home. Get cleaned up, eat, and think. Stop wallowing in self-pity.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>People were starting to fill the streets and I didn’t want to have to explain to them (or the police) how I’d gotten so bruised and scraped up. I really just wanted to go home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was sure my family, at George’s big fancy party, had had a really great time. That nobody had died, nobody had gotten hurt, and everyone was happy. There might even have been people with powers there. People who deserved them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But...did they deserve them? Villains got powers too. They did terrible things with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I can’t think like that anymore. Now I know that powers just happen. There is no “deserve.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, my self-doubt was...oddly supportive. Despite my limp, I found my gait steadying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Come to think of it, powers really did seem to be entirely random. Maybe there was some rhyme or reason to how they happened or appeared in people, but just going around pretending that some people were more worthy than others was...dumb. This wasn’t something like genetics or money, it really did seem to be some kind of random chance (with a side order of suffering).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That meant that I had powers whether I wanted them or not, whether I thought I deserved them or not. They were a part of me now, and I had to be willing to step up. I couldn’t just give up and pretend that my parents or brother were going to fix this for me. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> problem now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My problem. My powers. My family. My solution. My future.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have powers now. I have to be smarter. I have to think things through.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how much it hurt, no matter how terrible some of my plans might have been…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t give up anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: How nice that Greg was thinking about his family towards the end. They weren’t even around, because they were at a big gala awards thing last night in Boston. It was a party thrown by...Medhall? Well, maybe not all is as it seems!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edits 10Sept2020: Cleaned up the start a lot, as well as trying to explain Greg’s reasoning for the Secret Journal and his disappointment in himself more. While the original version worked great for drama/angst, it didn’t actually help the character grow, or help him figure out what he’s doing wrong. Though it’s still a bit of a downer chapter at times, I feel like my dear friend the Italicized Gut Feelings really helped it seem as though Greg was throwing out ideas...and then realizing why they were bad ones. It also ends with some hope for the future...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Interlude 1: Masquerade Party</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Greg’s Dad: Stanley Veder] </b>
</p><p>
  <span>When you become a father, there’s no manual. This has always puzzled me, because it seems like there’s a manual for just about everything else. When I give someone a tube of Kerasal for their feet, I’m required by law to also give them a little booklet explaining all the ins and outs that let them not have to call a trained podiatrist for anything regarding the cream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, it has all the simple stuff, like how you shouldn’t eat it, not to put it in your eyes (bad idea), and how it interacts with other medications. Pretty much the only thing it doesn’t tell you is how to avoid ever needing it again, but that would put me out of a job. Best and worst thing about being a doctor is that all you need is patience, and you’ll have patients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ha, a bit of doctor humor there. It’s not really that funny, but then again laughter is rarely the best medicine. That would be Morphine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I got a million of ‘em! One thing I don’t have a million of, though, is kids. Just have two, George and Greg. Tubes are tied, so it’s not like we’ll ever have more. Honestly though, looking at the first one right now, I couldn’t be prouder. We’d come to Boston with him and his girlfriend, so he could get an award from his company and we just couldn’t say no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I do worry about my boy Greg from time to time. I’m not just thinking that now because this is the longest he’s been left home alone since that time he recreated the trapped house from Home Alone (he must have watched that movie a hundred times, until he could repeat Channing Tatum’s character’s lines perfectly) and nearly brained his brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg is...special. I don’t mean that in a bad way, but he’s always had the family passion...he just lacks any kind of goal or dedication. I loved medicine, comedy, and Sandra, so I became a podiatrist because I wanted to help people and feet are funny. Sandra loved books, reading, and organization, so she became a Librarian. George loved medicine, helping people, and technology, so he went into medical implants and research. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Greg loves capes, cape culture, filmmaking, talking, the internet, and...he doesn’t seem to have any real long-term goals in mind. He could work in PR for capes, report on news for capes and culture, or any other thing he put his mind to...but he just spends all his time hiding in his room and playing silly games. I worry not about his future, but what he wants it to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I gazed across the party, ignoring the mass of people all chatting and pretending to eat the fancy food, I saw the woman I’d dedicated my life to so long ago. The most beautiful woman in the room, Sandra’s heels put her at eye level with me, her red dress made sure I wasn’t looking at her eyes (just kidding), and her bravery filled me with hope for the future. She’d certainly been brave enough to marry a lout like me, and blew me a kiss before attacking the buffet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George was already moving off to join her, a step ahead of me as always. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, I was usually a step behind...as I got to the buffet and found my wife already scraping up the last of the crab dip. This wouldn’t have been so bad, if not for the fact that a very annoyed man was glaring holes in her at the time. This was made doubly bad by the minor detail that the man was wearing plated armor and a mask. According to his nametag, he was...Bastion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, I was sure that we could work out our differences. Weren’t all hero capes supposed to be nice people? Besides, Sandra was pretty nice once you got to know her. I smiled as a nice waiter handed me a drink, and found myself lost in its swirling depths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How would I describe Sandra? Well, that’s a bit of story going all the way back to high school...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first thing I learned about Sandra was that she had high standards. She wouldn’t talk to me unless I greeted her first, waited for her to greet me back, and I had fresh breath, clean hands, and combed hair. This was why I’d blown her off at first, admittedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the time I was just a big lunk whose only claim to fame was being able to play football, by which I mean I was good at tackling and taking hits. There might have been more to life, but I wasn’t the smartest kid back then. In my defense, this was in the time that we had Fred Flintstone telling me to smoke and my Dad was having steak and whiskey for every dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, this was the same Dad who always said that my grades being bad wasn’t a big deal (because I could just play football) and that my stutter made me ‘endearing.’ There’s a reason I haven’t talked to Pop in over a decade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, at the time I just thought that she was a pretty girl and I wanted to date her, so I found myself in the library after school trying to talk to her. I soon found out that we had nothing in common, but she didn’t treat me like an idiot (as much as others), so I kept coming back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a week, but she finally broke down and gave me a response other than dismissal. Maybe she just felt bad for me, because she asked me what I’d do for a date with her. I replied “Anything,” and she handed me a book. Told me to learn it, then come back and see her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, I’d like to say that it was a book on feet and that’s what made me into the podiatrist I am today, but that’d just be contrived. I could also claim it was Latin, and that’s how I got into the medical field. Perhaps I could say it was Romeo and Juliet (which is not a romance, no matter what the internet may tell you), and that I returned to sweep her off her feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, it was none of these things. It was a book of 101 jokes, with a little section at the start on public speaking, stand-up comedy, and voice exercises. She’d overheard other kids making fun of my stutter, and remembered using that same book to work on her own enunciation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It worked wonders for me, just as it had for her. I read that book every night, practiced the standup, and slowly got over my stutter (thanks to a few other books by the same author). Sure, it took a few months, but it was worth it. Because I returned to school one day and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, kids still made fun of me. A book wasn’t magically going to change that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, I didn’t let it bug me. I marched right into that library, asked Sandra out, and within a few years we were married. There were a few breakups, arguments, and an incident with a tractor on a frozen lake that she has sworn me to never speak about, but we got there eventually. We’ve had two handsome boys, and I look forward to growing old with her...or becoming immortal, if George invents it before we both pass. It’s both of us, or neither.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wow, I can’t remember where I was even going with that story. Oh, right, I was trying to say that Sandra is a very complex and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, a little help over here?” George yelled, breaking me out of my train of thought. I glanced up from my drink to see him standing in front Bastion, whose chestplate seemed to be covered in very expensive crab dip. The hero’s hands were starting to glow with a sort of flickering aura, but Sandra was already grabbing a handful of something off the buffet that looked like it stained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, my Sandra. I wouldn’t trade a moment of our life together for anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try it and I’ll make sure you never step in a library again, you mouth-breathing, rust-covered, walking armor stand!” Sandra was fairly vibrating in my arms, and luckily I had kept up with my exercise after quitting football because she was damn strong. I’d once seen her suplex Aunt Gertrude after the old woman called Sandra’s blueberry pie ‘subpar.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have no idea the power a Librarian wields, bucko!” Sandra belted out as George continued to stay between the two of them. She waved an arm in the man’s direction, adding “You think they call her the Library of Alexandria because she uses an e-reader? Just try me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This wasn’t the first time I’d seen her get riled up...I mean, there’s a reason we’ve been banned from the Veder Family BBQ for three years running. Gertrude was only a 1-year ban, if you can believe it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, I felt her tap my arm twice, then once, then twice again, and knew she’d calmed down. The tapping meant that she needed an exit, and that it was time for me to be the vehicle for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I think we’re just going to head towards the balcony to cool off.” I raised my voice, cutting off whatever the hero was about to say, and he sent one more glare at our family before wandering off to find some napkins. I saw him get into an argument with a man in an impressive PRT dress uniform (and quite a few ribbons). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lifted Sandra as gently as I had the day we’d crossed the threshold, swung her around 180 degrees, and then set her down and held out my arm. She took it, completely calmed down, and I muttered, “Name-dropping Alexandria? Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody ever believes me, but she really did drop by a few years back and borrow a copy of ‘I, Robot.’ Read the whole thing in ten minutes, muttered something about someone named Richter, and then handed it back over.” Sandra always smiled a little as she told the story, and I’d long since stopped teasing her about it. “Then she told me to ‘keep up the good work’ and that I shouldn’t be too hard on the boys...but just hard enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably a good thing I wasn’t there,” I leaned in and pecked her on the cheek. “There’s no way I would have been able to keep from saying ‘That’s what she said.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stanley, no!” Sandra slapped me in the chest, bursting out into giggles. She did her best to glare at me, but the laughter made it hard to feel bad about the joke. We leaned on the railing beside the window, stopping just short of the cool breeze coming from the open balcony around the corner. “She’d have knocked you through a wall, and I’d have let her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s knocking dad through a wall now? Also, is there a line, because I think I still owe him for telling all those bad jokes as my last birthday.” George approached, his girlfriend on his arm, and the two beckoned Sandra and I towards a stage that had been set up near the edge of the party. “C’mon, guys. This is the whole reason we came. If I don’t get recognized or praised at least once an hour, my poor fragile ego just shrivels up and dies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I opened my mouth to make an obvious joke, but Sandra stuffed an hors d'oeuvre in my mouth. We all had a chuckle, and then quieted down as the lights dimmed. A spotlight flicked on, illuminating several people on stage, and I saw George speed-walking to the edge of the stage to join his fellow award-recipients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome, all of my friends, family, and employees.” The man was dressed in a fine suit that probably cost more than my car. He was handsome, looked to be in his mid-30s, and in excellent shape (probably thanks to a personal trainer). “As many of you may know, I am Max Anders, CEO of Medhall. Thank you all for coming, as we honor some of the greatest minds of the next generation for their achievements that will save millions of lives in years to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He certainly had a way with words, captivating the crowd, and I could see most of the people around us smiling and nodding...hanging onto his every word and motion. I reached out and took Sandra’s hand, squeezing it and noting that she was already getting teary-eyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not because she was proud, or from the thought of our little boy growing up so fast…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, it was because Max Anders, CEO of Medhall, was a nazi. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And we have to stand here and pretend to clap for him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and although I have been spending far more time here in Boston, my heart still lives on in Brockton Bay.” Max held out a hand, pretending that he actually had anything other than a blackened heart in his chest. “I know that I’ll soon return, and thank you all for being strong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The crowd cheered, and Max finally turned to the award winners on stage behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Sandra and I just smiled fake smiles, clapped our hands, and pretended that this facsimile of a human being wasn’t the greatest threat to humanity since Allfather kicked the bucket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to blame them, though. Most of these people were probably unaware of the things Sandra and I had seen, now that we were able to read between the lines and see what hid beneath the lily-white exterior of Medhall. E88 parahumans spotted near their headquarters in Brockton Bay, the children of their employees getting arrested for hate crimes, and of course the way that none of the E88’s targets ever seemed to be related to Medhall. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s there if you know to look for it, but nobody ever wants to look. They just want to ignore it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So while Sandra cried tears of anger, holding herself back only by a thread of self-control, I just seethed. I told myself little jokes, trying to distract myself from the overwhelming urge to run on stage and strangle Max Anders. I knew that Sandra would back me up, choke-slamming that blonde bimbo behind the man without a second’s effort. We’d laugh, and then everyone would…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...probably kill us, because at least a half dozen of these people are probably parahumans.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stanley? Sandra?” Melody’s voice, no longer the squawk it had been years ago, gently moved past my ears, and our gaze was drawn to her. I put on a goofy smile, and cocked my head at her. She returned the smile, and whispered, “George’s award is going to be any moment now, if you wanted a picture?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thanked the girl, smiling, and turned away. I had no words for her right now, as angry as I was already at Max, she’d just get caught in the crossfire. It was rude, I know...but both Sandra and I were still wary of the girl despite the kind way she spoke about our son. It wasn’t that we were paranoid or anything, this was based on objective fact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d called in a favor almost two years ago, when the two of them started getting serious. Call it the overreaction of a father who had too many patients in law enforcement. We’d run a background check on Melody, just on the off chance that she had some sort of dark past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A day later, we were both visited by a short, pale, stocky man who wouldn’t laugh even at my best jokes. He told us that he was from the PRT, that he had some forms for us to read and sign. I asked what would happen if we didn’t sign, and he just smiled and called our son in to join us. George sat down, sighed, and filled us in on what he could with a kind voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour later, both left, and we sat in shock at what we’d discovered. It hadn’t been much, only enough for George to maintain his cover and assuage our fears, but it was enough. Most important of all, he told us himself that it was going to be okay. We were assured that what was happening was his choice, that he was protected from her, and that he was damn good at his job. I tried to let the first and third of his statements distract me from the second...but I still wondered about Melody’s scars from time to time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were very similar to a member of the E88 who was rarely seen these days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I didn’t look into it anymore, since his parting words had been to say that by treating them like ordinary people at an ordinary company, a great source of evil and corruption might finally be stopped. It burned me up inside, but I had to trust my boy...and pray for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-presented to...George Veder!” On stage, Max was putting an award around George’s neck, and I saw them both smiling and shaking hands for the camera. The lights went down on stage, awards complete, and Sandra wiped her eyes as I waited for George to return to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why would anyone willingly work for that disgusting man? Oh, he’s coming over. Smile!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, you have a moment?” George’s voice pulled me out of the funk I was in, and I quickly put a smile on my face. I had to remind myself that despite all the fascists around us, this was George’s night, and he was getting an award for his efforts and research. Even now it sat on a little ribbon around his chest, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Max Anders Award for Scientific and Medical Innovation.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure son, who’s your friend?” I smiled and it took every ounce of willpower to let Max shake my hand, fake wincing as he squeezed it with a strong grip. “Oof, with a grip like that I hope he isn’t a proctologist, haha!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! George and Melody did say you had a sense of humor.” He turned a pair of brilliant blue eyes on me and smiled, “I’m Max Anders, CEO of Medhall. Pleasure to meet you in person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god, their Grand Dragon is on a first-name basis with my son. What fresh hell is this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment he had finished kissing my wife’s hand (she always was a good actor), I tried to get his attention and avoid having to talk about...well, anything serious. “So, Max, as two men who work in the medical field, I’m sure you know all about having people...foot the bill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah yes...you’re a podiatrist, aren’t you?” Max’s smile dimmed for a moment, and behind him I could see George put his face in his hand. “Tell me, Stanley, has anyone ever come to you asking if you can make them a better dancer by giving them two right feet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! You’d be surprised!” We were both grinning now, and I decided that if I couldn’t beat the man to death, I would at least waste his time with every bad pun in my arsenal. The more time he spent talking to me, after all, the less time he had to stomp on puppies or whatever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next fifteen minutes passed rather quickly, and soon Max’s erstwhile date got bored and came to join us. Her name was Jessa...or was it Nessa? I’m pretty sure I called her both, and she didn’t really seem to notice. Anyway, the blonde bombshell struck up a conversation with Sandra about Old Norse poetry, and she seemed rather taken with both the history and symbolism in the various works. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, I was so into trying to one-up Max with bad puns that I completely missed it when a new person entered our little group.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, so this is where you got off to, Max!” The newcomer was tall, broad shouldered, and had hair that was just starting to go grey at the temples. I also noted more than a hint of booze on his breath, as well as a slight stumble. The sizable glass of what appeared to be paint thinner in his left hand was probably the culprit. “I had to let my lady leave, my youngest was getting fussy, but I wanted to make sure we had some time to talk about business before I left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Business, of course...where does the time go?” Max’s smile almost vanished entirely, and he turned to gesture towards us as introductions were made. “Stanley, Sandra, George, this is James Fliescher. He’s a pharmacy CEO that Medhall works with, and a dear...friend. We’ve done quite a bit of business together. James, I believe I’ve mentioned George to you before, and these are his parents, Stanley and Sandra.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A pleasure to meet you all,” James replied, giving each of us a handshake that felt far too firm and lasted quite a bit longer than it should have. He turned an eye to Melody, smirking at her. “Melody. A pleasure to </span>
  <em>
    <span>speak</span>
  </em>
  <span> with you as always.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George must have shared some of his lady’s annoyance, because he quickly stepped forward and “accidentally” bumped against James’ arm. The large man spilled his drink, much of it slopping onto his shoes and making us all remember what shoe polish smelled like.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m so sorry. To think, I actually had been looking for you, James!” George pretended to fret, pulling out some napkins and patting at James’ hand nervously. “I was hoping to talk to you about some new ideas I had for the ongoing crisis in Brazil over Antiepileptic drugs. I’ve heard that you often do business in that area, so I had hoped you may have some insight into the matter?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see.” James, surrounded by several people (including the CEO of Medhall), wore a rictus grin of a smile as he handed his mostly-empty drink to a nearby waiter and allowed George to lead him a few feet away from the rest of us. “I suppose I have a few minutes…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you so much, I promise it won’t take long.” George grinned and winked at the rest of us, then straightened his face and added, “While we’re talking, could someone grab a fresh drink for James? Perhaps some coffee since he’s got a bit of business to talk about soon? I could also use some decaf, whoever’s going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melody had already started to walk off with Max towards the open bar, muttering to us that they’d only be a minute. Meanwhile, George continued to chat with James, and the large man’s expression quickly relaxed. My boy seemed oddly happy for the chance to talk to such an important (if horrible) person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minutes later, after Max and Melody had a quick conversation, and I saw her point at Bastion. I knew that Melody worked for Medhall as a Security Officer, though I doubted that was her real job. While the CEO looked at the cape in question, I did my best not to react as Melody twisted at one of her rings and slowly moved that hand over one of the mugs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if she’d just been testing its heat, she then picked up two </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> mugs and said something to Max. The distracted CEO turned back around, noticed his and James’ coffee, and dutifully grabbed one in each hand. As they returned to us, I felt oddly disappointed that Max took a sip from the mug that hadn’t been treated strangely. Soon they had rejoined us, mugs handed off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bleah.” James made a face and sound, giving a small smile as we all chuckled. He took another drink, a bit longer this time. “I will never get over the bitter taste of American coffee. Max, I will be out on the balcony, come find me when you are finished with your...friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I will, James. Thank you for your patience.” Max smiled thinly at James, and then turned to the rest of us as the older man nearly fell into one of the padded benches out on the fancy balcony. The party had started to calm down, and some people were already leaving, so there were only a few others out there with him. “I appreciate your patience, all of you. Much like coffee, James is a bit of an...acquired taste.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We chuckled at that, and began to say our goodbyes. Max kissed Sandra’s hand again, and I saw the knuckles of her other hand turn white as she smiled a big fake smile. Max left us to go speak to Bastion, the hero already staring daggers at my wife as we made a hasty exit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Veder clan (plus Melody) were soon waiting for the valet to fetch our car. We laughed as we stood there, already writing the story in our heads of the time we had to leave a gala event to avoid Sandra having to get into a </span>
  <em>
    <span>second</span>
  </em>
  <span> fight with a hero. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George assured us that the ribbon-festooned PRT officer (Director Armstrong, of the Boston PRT) would have stepped in. I didn’t even question how he’d known about the man.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a good night, as far as attending a nazi party to support your son’s clandestine activities went. I’d give it a...six out of ten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tomorrow, we’d return to Brockton Bay, and hopefully find the house still in one piece. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Greg would finally come out of his shell a bit, make some friends he was willing to bring home (like that Taylor girl he was always talking about), and have some sort of plan for his future. If not, he might even be willing to talk to us about what seemed to be troubling him lately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If nothing else, we could talk as a family, and find peace together. Everything was right with the world, and as long as we had each other, nothing could possibly go wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as we were leaving the gala’s parking lot, an ambulance and a police car sped past us, lights flashing. It didn’t escape my notice the way Melody and George smiled at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was proud of my boys, both George and Greg...I just wished I could do more for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***********</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg tries to figure out what the heck his powers are, and perhaps realizes that WHY someone wants to be a hero is sometimes more important than what they can do.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edit 10Sept2020: Realized that I was spending WAY too much time trying to AU the E88 into being weaker. Fact is, they barely figure into this story, other than a way to explain certain aspects of George’s relationship with Greg. So I nixed a lot of the AU elements of their appearance in this fic. Essentially, it’s standard canon E88...except that Max spends a bit more time in Boston for some reason and the E88 capes are a little less obviously public.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. 1.4: Understanding My Powers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As a kid, I always liked to imagine myself with powers. Not just because it was cool and I was a kid, but because of all the potential that was there. I loved coming up with different ways to use powers that other people thought were lame, or to squeeze every drop of possibility out of an idea. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It made for a very active fantasy life, and I have several videos that George helped me make about all these cool heroes I’d thought of. For a while I even had notebooks full of powers and combinations that seemed really amazing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was actually one of the things that got me into collecting cape merch. I’d spend every allowance on cards, collectibles, figurines, and clothes, because I looked up to the heroes they represented with every fiber of my being. I was still young enough that I thought maybe one day I’d be one of those heroes and little kids would be looking up to me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When I came home with my powers, the first thing that went through my mind was how amazing things would be once I figured out what they were. This led to a problem, because they were incredibly hard to figure out, and I started to get desperate. I got reckless. I got hurt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s bad enough being a desperate teenager, but one with powers? Far worse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, Dec 18, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Focus on a location...imagine myself there...and...damn! Still nothing!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I gave up on the latest of my attempts and finally entered my neighborhood. I’d been trying for the several blocks, and was finally starting to consider that my power probably wasn’t teleportation. I reflected on the fact that confirmation bias...is really hard to overcome.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confirmation bias, as I frequently forgot, was when someone heard new evidence or facts and bent it to fit an idea they already had. It wasn’t not something you should try to make a habit of, especially for those prone to passionate hyperbole or jumping to conclusions. People like me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So now after several minutes of trying to teleport, I had started to think that maybe I’d jumped the gun on my dreams of being the next Strider. In fact, I had even started to worry about what my powers actually were. What if I just exploded myself in directions? No, I had to calm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Home! I can eat, apply first aid, and all the things smart people do when hungry and injured.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time I got home I’d cheered up, since it’s hard to stay sad when you’ve got powers. I decided to put aside any thoughts of the future until I dealt with the present. I was just lucky to make it home with my clothes and shoes (mostly) intact. Walking a mile in someone else’s shoes was one thing, but a mile in shoes that were falling apart was something else entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I used my key to unlock the door that I definitely locked before leaving the night before, because I was a responsible adult, and went inside. I realized I was all alone in the house, shrugged (painfully), and disrobed right then and there. It was a lot easier than it should have been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, I had seen magic shows where people had tear-away clothes, but this was my first experience doing it myself. My pants were shredded, my shirt a gooey mess, and even my socks looked like I’d been using them to clean a brick wall. I ripped it all off on my first try.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, I limped into the kitchen and just started gorging myself. Manners and such would have been nice (or at least silverware), but I was running on empty and had too many injuries to count, so I think I got a pass. All the leftovers in the fridge didn’t judge me for my messy eating habits. Besides, I went straight from there into the shower...though I might have gone too fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cranking the shower knob turned out to be a horrible mistake. Not because the water was too hot or cold, but because everything hurt, and water was a part of everything. I was actually glad that I was the only one home, because I let out such a yell (shriek) that I’m pretty sure my parents would have broken the door down if they’d been within a block of the house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gritted my teeth, breathed deeply through my nose, and waited until the pain simmered down from “The Siberian tearing me in half” to “Alexandria beating me with a nerf bat.” It was a dull pain, and I felt every individual drop as it hit me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I added soap, and it spiked back up to the previous level. Great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in the end it was all worth it, because about an hour later I was sitting in my room with more bandages on me than that time I had gone for Halloween as a Mummy. Specifically, from those movies that came out in the late 90s starring Bruce Willis and Demi Moore. Personally, I preferred the third one, but a lot of people always said the second one was best because of the Scorpion Lord (and that wrestler who played him, Steve Austin). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, I think I used up all the bandages in the house, but my scrapes and bruises finally felt...less horrible. Best of all, while I had been dressing my wounds I’d let my mind wander a bit to distract myself from the pain (of which there was a lot). During that period I had come up with a new Plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>More plans seems like a bad idea. Am I really sure about this one? It sounded...painful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Telling myself that I couldn’t let a bit of pain distract me, I dug around in my room to find a notebook, then started writing. This was a plan that would call upon my vast cape expertise, as well as that of </span>
  <em>
    <span>people who weren’t me</span>
  </em>
  <span> and that meant that it was less likely to suffer the same pitfalls of my own plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was pretty straightforward. Before I could start working on names, costumes, personas, or anything else important, it was very important that I figure out what my powers actually were. I mean, I had my suspicions, but it was better that I know my strengths (and limitations) long before even thinking about going out in the field. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just imagine how red my face would be if I discovered I was bulletproof but not knife-proof!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come to think of it, don’t normal people have a weakness to getting stabbed by knives?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>...I carefully crossed that one off my list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Needless to say, I quickly hunted through PHO for all the threads I had bookmarked on the subject of Power Testing. Some of them were posted by the PRT, others had come from leaks and theorizing, and still more came from Roleplaying threads by nerds who I suspected of being secret villains. A few weren’t even that good at being secret villains, since I was 80% sure that </span>
  <b>N0tL33t</b>
  <span> was actually Leet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, once I had all my data gathered, I quickly set about organizing them by powers, tests, and materials, then recorded it all in my notebook and headed out of my room. I had put on a tracksuit to cover up my copious bandages, as well as grabbing a cloth mask in case any of the neighbors saw me. I grabbed Dad’s camera and tripod on the way downstairs, and set them up in the backyard pointed at the wall of the shed. It was nondescript enough that if someone got this footage they’d be unable to figure out who I was or where it was being shot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The camera was important, because some of my results might only have been visible from a third-person view. Stuff like glowing, for instance. That was another reason for the shed, it was dark and well-sealed, providing a nice environment for several of my planned tests. I grabbed a few special materials out of the shed, avoiding the beehive that Dad had been promising to do something about for years. It had been a warm winter, and was even warmer in the shed, so I could see a bee or two poking their heads out of the little hive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I left them alone for now, but I did feel a rumble in my tummy as they made me think about honey. I was probably still recovering a lot of body weight from my power usage the night before, as well as all that running. I didn’t even want to think about how many calories or whatever I’d burned. I don’t know cooking or nutrition, but it was probably a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jogging back inside, I quickly ate my bodyweight in microwave pizza, then sighed. I had left a huge mess, and knew that these tests would probably take all day. Grumbling, I carefully cleaned up my dishes and put my destroyed clothes in a garbage bag, then grabbed a few power bars from the cupboards and headed back outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The camera was flipped on, and I turned to the first page of my notes. I had interviews, I had patience, I had countless experiments planned, and I had the wealth of the internet at my fingertips. It was time to find my powers!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Plan #4: Finding Greg’s Powers with Online Power Testing Suggestions</b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Teleportation (Mover)</span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Strider, one of the most well-known teleporters in the country, had once said in an interview that he had to call upon a perfect memory of place. Other teleporters, like the ABB’s Oni Lee, required line of sight. Either way, it was a matter of destination and concentrations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spent several minutes staring at an open space of the grass in our backyard. I got on my knees and examined the spot, pushing every detail of the grass, clover, and dirt into my brain. I focused, closing my eyes, despite every ounce of my will...nothing happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nope, not a teleporter. On the plus side, I didn’t explode this time either. On to the next suspect!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Super Speed (Mover)</span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Velocity had claimed that he just “flicked a switch” in his mind, but had also been very cagey with talking about his powers. Other speedsters described it differently, but all of them seemed to involve some kind of movement that went beyond their own physical power. I had literally just watched the man, and aside from an odd blur around him he hadn’t even seemed winded. The blur also made him seem to have a hazy aura, but that may have just a Breaker state…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Either way, I spent a painful chunk of time running around the backyard, trying to push myself to overcome my physical limits. I say “painful” because my legs still felt like someone had tried to kneecap me and missed the first dozen times. Still, no blurring, no speed, no...fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Another one bites the dust. Maybe...maybe I should sit down for a few minutes. Hoo boy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Super Strength (Brute)</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nearly every Brute I could find info about online seemed to just be strong all the time, and had trouble dialing it down. Glory Girl once gave an interview (which her mother got taken down) where she said her strength was super ‘all the time’ and that was why she sometimes overdid it when it came to hitting stuff. I felt bad for her, because like me people judged her based on her mistakes. I guess that was some food for thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, this one seemed much easier to test. I had tried lifting some of Dad’s weights, to move them outside for testing. They weighed 25 pounds. I gave up after a minute. This test wasn’t even worth trying.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I really need to start exercising. No matter what my powers are, I need to be stronger.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Super Toughness (Brute)</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...I dropped one of the weights on my foot. Nothing got broken, but I didn’t have Toughness.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, at least that one was fast. I wonder if there are any more ice packs in the freezer?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Tinker of Some Kind</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were loads of articles and videos about Tinkers. One thing they all had in common was the fact that they would see electronics and tech, and be struck with ideas. This did not happen to me. Not even when I dug some random tools and parts out of a box in the basement.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Probably for the best. I’m not exactly swimming in cash, and being a Tinker seems expensive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Thinker</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I played a few really hard games on my computer, as well as taking some Mensa tests. I scored well, but not well enough to be any kind of Thinker. Also, I’m pretty sure the computer was cheating at chess, but my powers didn’t let me punish it. Double letdown.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that’s one less headache to worry about. Dang, Dad would have loved that joke.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Trump</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eidolon, one of my favorite heroes, was usually pretty tight-lipped about his abilities. Somehow he’d once made a throwaway remark to a reporter after an Endbringer fight, and that held a clue that very much interested me. Mainly, because it sounded similar to my own escape the night before. Essentially, he said that his powers came from what he called </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’d focus on what he needed, form a power that fit those specifications, and then...there it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why I spent a good five minutes standing in the shed, door closed, focused on the fact that it was totally dark. I could hear the bees buzz a little, knew there were some sharp objects around me, and that I’d be in danger from both. Despite all that, I didn’t start glowing or get night vision. I did stub my toe, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Eh, probably better that I’m not a Trump. Their powers are always so strange and confusing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Blaster</span>
    
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how much I pointed at things, grunted, and tried to focus on bringing my inner energies out, nothing happened. Not even when I focused on electricity, fire, acid, ice, water, time, wood, metal, dreams, force, ki, chi, qi, happiness, anger, and anything else I could think of.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Given how I tried to attack George when he poked me with a broom, maybe this is for the best.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Shaker</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In interviews I’d seen with both Vista and Narwhal, both had admitted that the first time they used their powers it was as a reaction to danger or surprise. Vista had said she separated two people who were annoying her (though that interview was deleted). As for Narwhal, she said that someone had tried to hit her soon after she got her powers, and a shield just...appeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My own experiences were less dramatic than theirs. I recorded myself throwing a baseball into the air and then standing there while it came down and clocked me on the head. I’d like to say that I manifested a force shield like Narwhal’s. I’d love to say that I ignored it the way The Siberian ignores physics. I wish I could say that the ball froze in the air on top of my head like some sort of odd hat, like when Clockblocker touches things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of that happened. I just got hit in the head with a baseball and went down like a sack of potatoes. To add injurious insult to injury, the ball bounced off the shed and I landed on it on my way down, leaving a huge bruise with baseball-stitching running down it on my shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why couldn’t George have been into tennis instead of baseball? Maybe some calmer tests… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Stranger</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I only needed a few minutes of staring at one of my neighbors as he watered his lawn, focusing with all my might on him not noticing me, to feel creeped out by </span>
  <em>
    <span>myself</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Also, he saw me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah, being a Stranger would lead to way too many terrible opportunities. My rep’s bad enough.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Changer</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring at magazines just made me jealous of how much better looking than me all the men and women were. Imagining my body changing to match theirs was equally ineffective. I even ran through all the elements again, but felt no affinity for any of them. I did get jealous, though, at how happy some of the models seemed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is starting to hurt my self esteem…but at the same time I’m afraid to try the next one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Master</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Testing a Master power was a lot harder than the others, because in my own head I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> want my power to be that. Everyone knew what had happened to Canary, and Masters generally had a really bad reputation...but I didn’t want it for two of my own reasons. First, because people would look at my past and instantly think the worst of me. Second, because my own thoughts earlier today had told me that I had poor impulse control...so I was the worst possible person to actually get a Master power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite that, I still walked around the neighborhood (without my mask) and did my best to try and...ugh...</span>
  <em>
    <span>control people and animals</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Luckily, aside from getting some odd looks, nothing happened. Nobody fell to their knees, did the things I mentally commanded, or declared their devotion to me. Their dogs also remained aloof. A bird tried to poop on me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, as I stood in front of the shed and stared at one of the little bees buzzing around its door, I remembered the time one of them had stung me years back. I was so deep in the memory that, as I was recalling this painful experience, a bee actually landed on my hand...in the same place I’d been stung all those years ago. It was a hell of a coincidence, and then my eyes bugged out.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, is...am I some kind of Bug Master? Holy crap! Okay, let’s see if I can get it to do stuff.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will call you Susan Bee Anthony,” I told the bee, already trying to remember the feeling I’d had when first making it land on me. Bug powers were kind of lame, but it was my first success and we already had a bee hive so I expected to make it a part of my early training. “Don’t sting me, but protect me from my enemies. I will make you a Queen, Susan, and together we wi-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Susan stung me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I said a very bad word, very loudly, while Susan flew off to go die in some place that traitors and liars go when they want to die. I climbed to my feet and went off in search of an ice pack. As I was icing my hand I noted that the sun was setting, and decided to call it quits for the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Time to order a pizza, put on new bandages, and think about how tomorrow can be better.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I munched on another slice of pizza (meat supreme with spinach and mushrooms), I considered that maybe I had gone into my power testing with my expectations too high. The reason my tests had gotten more and more desperate, and why I’d been willing to trust info I got off the internet, was because I had assumed that I would just </span>
  <em>
    <span>get it</span>
  </em>
  <span> at some point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had watched plenty of anime and read many comic books, and several of them had a trope where the protagonist would train like crazy on some new technique with no luck...and then suddenly get it when they least expected it. The knowledge had been drilled into them, and they just needed that one thing to make it all come together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like that movie, </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Karate Kid</span>
  </em>
  <span> (starring teen hearthrob Corey Feldman), where Daniel trained in washing and waxing to learn proper discipline and movements. He got really annoyed at his sensei (played by George Takei) for not teaching him to fight, but the sensei held firm. Daniel eventually went to a  fighting championship and realized that his movements matched those of actual fighters, that he just had to stop thinking so much and follow his instincts. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then he made an illegal move and won the girl. I’m...not sure what the message was there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, I had thought that there was the tiniest chance that I’d eventually just have such an epiphany. That all my efforts would get me to the edge of exhaustion and my failures would push my mind to its limit of patience. That it would hit me, like a bolt of lightning, and suddenly my powers would unleash. But no, I’d just hurt myself with a bunch of dumb tests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t let my failures get me down, though. Look at the bright side!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now I had a long list of things I had tried that hadn’t worked. This might have seemed like a bad thing, but I was trying to get in the habit of being positive. This was a good thing, because now I had knocked a whole pile of stuff off my list. If I ever came across any of these tests again, I didn’t even have to spare them a thought. This was </span>
  <em>
    <span>progress</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, was my Hypothesis wrong, or the Research? This is what I get for trusting the Internet!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hmm, I was pretty sure that either way I was going to have to start from scratch. But again, this was a good thing, because each time I went back through the experiments and questions I was sure to see something new. This was why I was keeping my journal, why I had written everything down, and why I had been recording my tests…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crap, I left the video camera out in the backyard. Better go get it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I got up and put the leftover pizza in the fridge, my appetite having finally tapered off. I stood there for a moment, taking solace in the cool and soothing feeling of cold air on my many bruises. I almost didn’t hear the sound of a car engine outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That car has a very familiar knocking noise. Sounds kind of like Dad’s car...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Already full of pizza and distracted by thoughts of what tomorrow might bring, I wandered to the window and moved a curtain a bit to take a peek. It was hard to see since the lights were on inside and the street lights were fairly dim, but...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not only does it sound like the Dad’s car, but it also looks like it. Wait a second.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten seconds later, I was halfway up the stairs, having taken off just as I’d heard a key rattling in the lock of the front door. Against all odds, I didn’t trip and fall back down the stairs, and managed to make it to my room just as I heard the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right, Mom had said that they might be back tonight. Guess I got caught up in the testing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe the whole “multiple near-death experiences” thing distracted me.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>I knew they would have questions and comments on the current state of my body, so I scratched up a quick note and stuck it on my door, then flicked the lights and slipped into bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, honey, are you-” Mom’s voice cut off, and I heard her fingernails scratching at the door as she lifted the hastily-written note I’d taped to my door. I could hear her muttering as she read it, and did my best not to hold my breath as she considered whether to let me “sleep” or barge in and ask how an “art project” could exhaust me enough to go to bed at 8pm. It worked, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, there were a few mutters and creaks as they got ready for bed. As yet another board squeaked, I made a mental note to use my powers to fix some of the flooring in this house. It was going to be impossible to sneak in and out with the wood screaming every time I came back after successfully defeating criminals in town. Maybe I could just fly out the window?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fixing the house? Fighting criminals? I can’t even make a decent plan, or figure out my powers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, there was the old self-doubt. With my body and mind too active to sleep, my anxiety had started to creep in. I couldn’t get up, use my computer, or move around...heck, I could barely move without rolling onto one of my wounds. So my mind started to wander, even as I heard my parents and George getting ready for bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of thinking about my family, though, I was thinking about my Plans. Not about making new ones, or trying to fix the old ones, but something far more pressing. I wanted to try and figure out why I was so garbage at making plans, and why I had never realized it before today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I decided to boil them down to their core principles and think critically. It wasn’t easy, but I had to learn not to make the same mistakes over and over...and looking at my most recent mistakes was a great place to start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plan #1: Revenge. Use my powers to beat up bullies and those who tormented me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or, put another way, use my powers to hurt people who I think deserve it, based on what they did to me as kids, as well as to impress people and show off. Not heroic. Kinda criminal, really.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Plan #2: Rebirth. Create a cape persona, and focus all my attention on making it amazing!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...at the cost of my existing persona, Greg Veder. Sure, I might be a hero, but I’d have to give up on the guy under the mask. Sacrificing 15 years of Greg for a </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>chance </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>at something better.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Plan #3: George. He’s older than me, smarter than me, and makes better plans than me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But he’s also not me. If I keep running to George and my parents for everything, I’ll never learn to handle my own problems. I can’t always depend on them...someday, they’ll be gone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Plan #4: Powers...forget the future, focus on now. Right now, I need to know my powers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Focusing only on right now was stupid. I put myself in real danger in the past 24 hours. If I keep this up, I won’t have a future. Focusing entirely on my powers is a bad idea.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hmmm. Well, I recognized my mistakes thanks to the magic of hindsight, but that didn’t really help me decide what to do next. Maybe instead of looking to my own present or future, I should look at other people’s past and present? See what the parahumans before me had done?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being as quiet as I could, I slipped out of bed and over to my computer. I searched around PHO, and then the wider Internet when that didn’t help much. I was looking for news stories about other people in my situation. Teenaged capes who got powers and had shown problems beforehand. Kids who came from broken homes, had serious discipline problems, or were just plain terrible...and then got powers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The results were, in a word, bad. Most of my info came from comments made by anonymous friends or family of the parahumans, but they all spoke of lives that powers only made worse. </span>
</p><ul>
<li><span> Acidbath was a sociopath who triggered and went straight into murder. Ended up in the Birdcage. </span></li>
<li><span>Damsel of Distress was homeless and was surmised to be a victim of domestic abuse. </span></li>
<li><span>Blasto once mentioned that his family kicked him out and shunned him. </span></li>
<li><span>Redacted records show that Lab Rat was skipping school (bullies?).</span></li>
<li><span>Shadow Stalker was a Ward, but she’d killed a guy before they “recruited” her. I heavily doubted that she’d grown up in a nice house with a picket fence</span></li>
<li><span>That new Tinker, Bakuda, supposedly had snapped from family and school pressure before going villain and blowing a guy into tiny pieces.</span></li>
</ul><p>
  <span>It was pretty damning evidence. People who had tough and crappy lives before getting their powers ended up as either crappy people...or outright villains. I couldn’t let that be my future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sat there in the dark for hours, only lit by my monitor’s glow. I tried typing a few things out and did a few more searches, but nothing really stuck. Then I started thinking about how I would do something like this </span>
  <em>
    <span>without </span>
  </em>
  <span>powers, and something started to click. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even this research came from me thinking of other people. Maybe that’s the answer?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, hypothetical scenario...removing myself from the equation...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, so what if I had a friend and they got powers? If they were depressed, felt like their family didn’t love them, felt overshadowed by an older sibling, felt shunned by their classmates? What would I say to someone who </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t me</span>
  </em>
  <span> to help them? What could I do, that would help them overcome their weaknesses, recognize their strengths, and still juggle life and their powers?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thought about it, eyes closed and hands on my keyboard...and then I began to type.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the sun was just peeking over the horizon, my fingers danced across the keyboard as I worked on a new password-protected document. This would be my journal, and I’d use it to document this journey I was taking. I had even gone back and written entries for the last day or two, just to get caught up. I knew that this new plan- </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No! Not a plan. No more plans. I’m not making any more plans until I can trust myself.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>No, I knew that this was the right </span>
  <b>path</b>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I would delay my heroic debut. I would make sure that by the time I was ready to do stuff like make a costume and start training, I was the best Greg I could be. I had to learn how to look at myself in the mirror and be proud. I had to make sure that the man under the mask was just as strong as the powers he held!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I mean, I might train my powers a little, but nothing as extreme as what I was doing yesterday. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Those hadn’t been the actions of someone who wanted to learn about themselves and help others...they were the actions of a desperate child. I could never be someone like that if I wanted to help people...much less help myself. No, I was going to make a better </span>
  <b>me</b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With today’s entry done, I scrolled up to the top of the journal and gave it a snazzy title:</span>
</p><p>
  <b>From Hated to Hero: Making a Better Greg, So That Greg Can Be the Best Hero Possible</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a bit verbose, but that’s Greg Veder for you. Even if I changed, I’d still be me, at heart.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah. I think I can make this work. What could go wrong?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Just after I hit Save, I stood up from my chair and my back let out a sound that I barely heard over the intense wave of both pleasure and pain that rippled down my spine. I’d never been healed by Panacea, and probably never would, but I was pretty sure this was how it felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rolled my chair back a bit, wincing at the sound of its broken wheel scraping on the floor, and looked up as I heard a squeak from the hallway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My door opened, and George stuck his head in. “Hey, Greg, I was wondering if we could-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw me, covered in bandages, tired, with a huge bruise on my face. Without a word, he stepped into my room, and shut the door behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh right, that could go wrong. You know, now would be a great time for my powers to kick in. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But unfortunately, I didn’t manifest a power that reversed time. I didn’t suddenly have a Stranger power that made him forget he saw me. Hell, I didn’t even get another painful teleport!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks, powers. I totally don’t get you at all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg has a calm and rational discussion with his beloved older brother, who helps his parents understand Greg’s odd situation. No, wait...the exact opposite of most of that. Also a lot of yelling, because they’re siblings. It might not end well.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edits 11Sept2020: Originally, the idea was that Greg would go through a bunch of wacky homebrew power-testing, having no luck because he’s a Trump. It made for some nice physical humor as the poor deluded Greg beat himself up for nothing...but was also really heavy on the crack. As vignettes, I think it works better, without losing the point of him being passionate and desperate. In a few chapters he’s going to be trying to act different, and needs a foundation.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. 1.5: Understanding My Brother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t hate my brother, George. Full stop.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sure, I have trouble understanding him, but a lot of that is because of how absent he’s been. He’s always busy with his job, his work, his girlfriend, and so much else...I’ve always been afraid of trying to cram myself in there as well. You know how a sandwich can squeeze some meat out of itself when you take a bite, and that’s a sign you overfilled it? You just eat it later, or leave it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, as I see it, that’s also a sign that maybe that one meat, cheese, or condiment shouldn’t have been in there in the first place. So when I got shoved out of George’s life, I quickly gave up on getting back in. I just waited for him to get back to me...and eventually decided he’d left me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But sometimes I wonder if I should have fought harder. Not just because I missed my brother, but because maybe he was like that sandwich-eater and hadn’t realized I’d fallen out. It’s selfish, I know, but I always figured he’d just come back for me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At a certain point, I guess I stopped waiting.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>My injuries would’ve made most shy away. But George, a doctor in all but title, did the opposite.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, what the hell did you do to yourself?” George started to walk towards me, reaching out a quivering hand in my direction. His face had shifted from annoyance to confusion in the blink of an eye, and I backed away in response. George had a good few inches over me, and the last thing I wanted was for him to try dragging me out to Mom and Dad to get scolded. “Seriously, what is all this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As incredibly tempting as it was to just tell him everything, we really weren’t brothers like that anymore. I’m sure the George of several years ago would have been beside himself with support and ideas, but the George of right now was...different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He might have outed me, and I didn’t want all my ideas about improving </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg</span>
  </em>
  <span> to die only hours after I’d made them. George was such a fuddy-duddy that he’d probably tattle to Mom and Dad, they’d force me to join the Wards, and then it’d be high school all over again. I needed a plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh right, no more Plans. How about...tactics? Let’s start with </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Tactic #1: Fake wounds.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? This?” I glanced at my arms and legs as if I was surprised to see them wrapped in bandages and covered in dried blood. I intentionally dropped my jaw a bit (which actually hurt, when I had a bruise this big on my face) and sighed.  “Oh, this was just from that art project I was doing yesterday. Yeah, it just looks bad, but it’s not real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My acting was superb, but there was a lot of evidence to the contrary. I was wearing shorts, so it was hard to hide the fact that my legs looked like I’d tie-dyed them with purple and red dye. George stared at me silently, disbelieving.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fine, maybe I can just play it off. I’m a Veder, we’re survivors. </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>Tactic #2: Not so bad.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, George, I know what you’re going to say, and I totally get it. This may look pretty bad. I mean, bruises, cuts, this baseball-shaped bruise on my shoulder…” I trailed off, then noticed his eyes bulging as he saw that one mark from yesterday where I fell on the ball and it left the imprint of its stitching on my arm. “But it’s really not that bad. I can barely feel it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we always have had really high pain tolerance in the Veder family.” George laughed, turning around as if to leave...and then sprinted across my room so fast that I doubt his feet touched the ground. Obviously my fine-tuned parahuman senses were still running a bit slow, or my powers decided I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> fast reaction time, because my guard was wide open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He poked me in the middle of the bruise, and I decided to examine my bed for soundproofing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...okay, so I really just shoved my face into my pillow and screamed in pain. The point is, that actually really hurt, and as a doctor-to-be George should have been ashamed. After I’d caught my breath, he sat next to me on the bed and gestured at my obviously not fake injuries.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Greg...I know what this is about.” He started, his voice strangely kind and quiet. He very gently placed a hand on the bed between us as his eyes sought mine out. “I found the blood in the bathroom, cleaned it up, and I’ve noticed the way you really throw yourself into your escapism lately. I understand your...situation better than you think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He sounds like he THINKS he knows something. I can just go with it. How close can he be?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re getting bullied at school, and got beaten up or pranked...or both, right? I know how that is, and I want to help...but you need to be honest with me.” It was hard to be mad at George, especially when he looked so worried. At least he didn’t say- “I’m your brother...I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. Why couldn’t he have noticed any of that at </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>any</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> point before today? Now what?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, if he’d come and talked to me about this sort of thing a day ago, I’d be opening up to him about the Popular kids, Taylor, and just about everything else right now. Thing is, my mind was already shifting in another direction because it was obvious that George knew me a hell of a lot better than I’d thought. Maybe...maybe I really could trust him with my parahuman status?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem was, my relationship with George had been crappy for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worst of all, it was almost entirely my own fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite how I treated him now, George had actually been a good brother up until a few years ago. He came home from college, not exactly by choice, halfway through his senior year at Boston University. That’s when things started to go downhill, and looking back I sometimes think it was a lot more my fault than his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been sent back home due to some hardcore villain fights going on in Boston, and his university gave everyone the option of finishing out the year from home. Mom and Dad were ready to handcuff him to his bed if he tried to go back, so George moved back in with us. He went back into his old room, I helped him, and we were a family again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first week or two it was just like old times. George was smart as heck, helped me with homework, hung out with me all the time, and loved to talk to me about capes he’d seen. I mean, we’d always liked to play superhero and read comics together, but now he’d actually been right there in the action, and I had so many questions!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think that it was about a month after he got back that I noticed he kept cutting out of our conversations early, saying that he had to go take care of something. I knew that he was a big college guy who could drink and drive (never in that order), and I didn’t want to cramp his style too much. But, at the same time, he was </span>
  <b>my</b>
  <span> brother, and my anxiety would kick into high gear and tell me that he was just saying those things to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get away from me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was what led me to following him one day, after he’d cut me off halfway through a question about the Clockwork Dogs, saying he had a call to make. I managed to keep out of sight as he went down the block, around the corner, and into a small dog park near our house. While he was calling someone on his phone, I was crouched behind a trash can and listening in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation was with someone he called “Zoe.” He thanked her for having time for him, saying that he still had nightmares about someone named ‘Damsel’ trying to kill him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He seemed really happy when he found out that his first aid had made a difference after this “Damsel” had cracked Zoe’s “shell” when she was protecting him. My mind was racing a mile a minute, and it’s a good thing I wasn’t on PHO back then or I might have been perma-banned that night for outing the cape known as Snubnose as being someone named Zoe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, after a pause, he went on to admit that the reason he was calling was that he was having trouble sleeping. That his little brother kept asking about capes and villains as if it was all some kind of game, and he didn’t know how to make it stop without causing some real pain to our relationship. That he didn’t want to destroy his brother’s world with the truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, in Brockton Bay, we’d always had a lot more villains than heroes. It had never really affected </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though. I just read my comics, watched my cartoons, and made home movies of a red-caped Greg fighting a blue-masked Greg, or using action figures. It was so simple and innocent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there I was crouching behind a trash can, spying on my big brother as he broke down into tears at the thought of his little brother asking him just </span>
  <em>
    <span>one more question</span>
  </em>
  <span> about capes. How it wasn’t a game, but his stupid brother just couldn’t stop pulling at those threads day after day!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That he still couldn’t forget all the people he’d failed to help…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...or all his classmates who hadn’t been so lucky, and had died that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, I didn’t really talk to George much for a while. At least, not until he noticed I was kind of shutting him out and decided to play a prank on me. I, of course, pranked him right back, and it became a war. For a while those pranks were our only real interactions, until they stopped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later on, he got a job, a girlfriend, and spent as many nights with her as possible. He spent more and more time at his job, and some weeks would go by where I’d barely even see him. The few times we interacted, if I brought up capes he’d just ignore me...especially for villains.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I knew that my brother hated me, hated what I was becoming with my love of cape culture, and frankly...I kind of hated him too. The one thing we had in common, and he had to ruin it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he wasn’t the only one at fault, and I had to come to terms with that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Capes had torn us apart...could they bring us back together?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George, you’re not wrong. But there’s more to it, and I need you to swear that you won’t tell anyone.” I sighed, looking up and him and did my best not to flinch as I felt his hand settle on my least bruised shoulder. With a soft murmur, he swore to keep my secret, whatever it was, and thanked me for trusting him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, here we go. My unmasking...before I even have a mask, name, or know my powers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I took a deep breath, looking him in the eyes, and said, “George, I’m...a parahuman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was silent, and between us I could feel the vast gulf that had formed between us slowly shrink. Our brotherly bond had been torn asunder a long time ago, and since then it had gotten worse. But now, with the two of us working together, we could start to be a family aga-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, show me your powers.” George chuckled and held his hand out in front of him, as if I could put my powers in his palm. “Prove it. Do something super. Heck, do anything at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t!” I exclaimed, scooting back rather than swatting at his hand like I wanted to. He smiled, and I did my best to keep a cool head, just in case my powers were anger-activated and made some sort of Dimension-slicing wave or a Organic-Material-Destroying Telekinesis. I looked down at my hands, clenched in my lap. “I can’t get them to work right now. They worked Friday night, when I was running away from Knife Guy, but-.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knife Guy? Who the hell is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oops. Well, I guess if I’ve already outed myself, may as well tell the whole story.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s not actually his name.” I smiled at George, and he began to return it as if this was one of my improperly-timed jokes, but then his face froze when I added, “He was just an Empire 88 gang member who had a knife and was chasing me on Friday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George had nothing to say to that. In fact, he seemed to have blue-screened. It was probably a good thing I hadn’t mentioned Hookwolf, or he might have died on the spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>George is being very quiet. This is my fault, I need to give him more context. Where to start? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to get nervous, and so I did what I always did when nervous...rambling like a Veder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh relax, he didn’t catch me.” I paused, then rocked my head from side to side, looking up at the ceiling of my room and starting to fill the silence with words. “Well, I mean, he did catch me and tried to stab me, but then I managed to teleport into a park. Although it might not have actually been a teleport per se, but really more of an explosion or a sudden power burst.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George remained silent, and looked like he was vibrating in place slightly. I mean, I had always heard the phrase “warring emotions” before, but this was the first time I’d ever seen someone whose emotions actually seemed to be fighting inside of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He probably thinks I’m an idiot. I need to show him that I’m responsible. Where are my notes?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“But don’t you worry about a thing, George! I didn’t just come home and start tearing things up in the house or putting together a silly costume, no siree! I did my research, and made scientific tests...” I smiled widely and waved one of my notebooks at him, seeing his eyes glance at them and his shaking hand reach out and take it from me. “Admittedly, I got them off the Internet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he read over my notes, I went on, “I put together a series of tests that, while sometimes painful, were perfectly suited towards testing all manner of potential abilities. Now, while none of them actually proved much of anything, I taped all of it on Dad’s video camera, which is out in the shed. Once I get clear of Mom and Dad today, I plan to put together a new set of tests and get to work on further experimentation and scientific-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, stop! I just...I need a minute to think.” George closed his eyes, took a breath, and then opened his eyes to look at me more clearly. He dropped my notebook on the bed, and started to pace around in the room while shaking his head and wringing his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he stopped and turned to face me. “Look, Mom and Dad are going to be up any minute, and they were talking last night about wanting to go to Church as a family this morning. I think we both know that neither of them would believe this whole ‘I got super powers’ story of yours even if you didn’t look like one of Bonesaw’s failed projects.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, she claims that none of her projects are ever really failures,” I pointed out as George moved to the door. “She calls them ‘happy little accidents,’ and says that anything worth doing is worth practice. Murderous rampages aside, that’s a really good point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is, but it’s also not </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>point, Greg.” George rolled his eyes, then motioned for me to get into bed. “Look, I’m going to go come up with some kind of lie to get Mom and Dad to give you the day off, so you just stay in bed and pretend that you’re...I dunno, sick or something? Also, no talking about powers or anything else in the meantime, got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem.” I got settled in bed, leaving only my face sticking out and grumbling slightly as I realized that I had run out of bandages to cover up my terrible-looking face. As he opened the door, I realized something. “Hey George? Thanks for helping me out like this. I know we don’t always get along, but this? Having my back and keeping my secret like this is really...nice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess it is.” George turned to leave, and as the door shut I heard him mutter, “I’ll always do what’s best for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, after listening to movement, muffled conversation, and then the less-calming </span>
  <b>shouted</b>
  <span> conversation (mostly Mom), my door burst open. Mom immediately crossed the room to my bed, and I was afraid for a moment she was going to drag me out. Instead, she just squinted at me, let out a huff, then walked back to Dad and hugged him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s not a good sign. Should I pretend to cough or sneeze? Wait...is she crying? Oh no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stanley, I just don’t know what to do with this boy!” She let out a little sob, and I began to feel like maybe I should say something. George, just outside her field of view thanks to the door, rolled his hand at me in the time-honored signal of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Go With It</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so I just stayed quiet and looked miserable. It wasn’t hard to pretend, as any kid who’s ever made their mother cry knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, I know it looks bad, but we Veders are always really passionate about what we do, and in this case Greg just let his eyes get ahead of his common sense.” George entered and gave her a one armed hug, moving across the room to sit next to me on the bed. “The thing is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then George dropped the bombshell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, how could he have known that the face paint he was using for his cape video would stain his skin like this? He’s really broken up about it already, so how about we ease off of him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What. Seriously. What the hell, George? Face paint? They’re never going to buy-</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He put an arm around me, purposefully pressing right down on the baseball bruise as he gave me a one-armed hug. I let out a little gasp as blinding pain shot through me. “Shhh, there, there little hero, it’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, as long as it washes off by church next week, I suppose we can let this slide. But you’d better make sure that he knows the difference between these different styles of makeup in the future, George.” Dad acquiesced, and gently guided Mom out of the room. He rubbed one hand on her back as they left, calling to me. “I’m never going to tell you not to follow your dreams, Greg, but in the future try to look before you leap. You really could have gotten hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, Dad, I’m sure Greg will never do anything this dumb again. Especially now that he knows how painful it is...in his heart.” George pressed on my bruise again, and I didn’t have to fake my groan. George called after them, “You two go ahead and get in the car, I’ll be there in a minute. I just need to read over these makeup tubes and make sure they won’t have any lasting effects, then dispose of them properly after I write down the phone numbers and such.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such a good brother, George.” Mom replied, then began shuffling down the stairs with Dad. “You’ll be an excellent father someday.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I heard them leave and close the front door, George quickly got up from the bed and turned to face me. I glared at him balefully, and prepared to voice my concerns about his actions in the time-honored tradition of a brotherly argument...with plenty of four-letter words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, Greg,” George backed up a bit, holding up his hands in surrender. “Before you go flying off the handle, think about how well that worked out and how little it cost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh right, I forgot to thank you.” I gingerly got out of bed, slapping away his hands as he reached for me. I started moving around the room and tidying up just so that I didn’t have to look at his smarmy face. Finally, I slammed my hands into my nightstand and turned to glare at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This might actually be the worst prank he’s ever pulled on me. My reputation is shot!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom thinks I painted my face with bad makeup, so I’ve lost any credibility I had for buying more. Dad’s going to make jokes about it, and probably bring it up at family get-togethers.” I paused, raising my middle finger at him. “Oh, and you also scored bonus ‘good son’ points by ratting me out as an immature idiot. Thanks </span>
  <b>so much</b>
  <span> George.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But on the plus side, now you have a week to heal without them asking about all the bruises and cuts, and by then maybe you’ll have a better excuse.” George tried to reason with me, using his usual twisted methods of introducing logic and stupid reasoning into what was supposed to be an emotional family argument. “Besides, if you would just come clean with them we wouldn’t have had to lie. Seriously Greg, you don’t need to make up lies about powers because bullies-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was right before. It’s a good thing I don’t have a Blaster power, or I’d blast George right now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a goddamn lie!” My voice broke, and I barely kept myself from screaming at him. Mom and Dad may have been in the car outside, but I hadn’t wanted to give him the satisfaction of hearing me lose my temper. “Stop treating me like an idiot! Stop acting like this is a joke!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I used his stunned silence to stomp forward and stab my finger at him. “I triggered! I got powers! I’m trying to figure them out! Worst of all, I trusted you and you think I’m lying!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it Greg, I’m trying to help you, but you make it really hard.” George held out a hand and started to count on his fingers, ignoring my angry glare and stabbing finger. “You never talk about school or friends. You spend all your time on the computer. You make your videos alone. You’re covered in bruises after a day of school. Just admit that you’re being bullied already!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well no shit I’m being bullied, but that doesn’t mean that the other stuff can’t be true as well!” I grabbed my notebook, flipping through it to the information I had collected on parahumans pre-trigger. I handed them to George, and he looked down at the information that directly linked at least one horrible experience to the appearance of almost every parahuman out there. Now that I had experienced it firsthand, it was a wonder I’d never realized it before. “Look at those notes, and you’ll see that parahumans all experience all kinds of bad shit and it makes the-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Being bullied and having a shitty day doesn’t make you a parahuman, Greg!” George threw my notes back at me, then turned around and put both hands on my wall as he leaned his head against it. His voice was quieter, and I thought he might have been holding back from either crying or yelling. “I lost people close to me to villains, to the E88, to disease...and none of it ever made me trigger! I used to get bullied and teased every day for being a nerd and a skinny wimp, but I never got powers! I had so many problems and so little good...I wanted to escape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, I was right before. He only went to college to get away from us. To get away from...me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it really that bad?” I asked, but I’m not sure why. I had spied on him, after all. I knew. “So bad that you had to run away from everything? From...me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes I...no.” George turned back around, but kept his eyes on the floor. He took a deep shuddering breath, and shook his head as if to clear it. “No, I realized that I had to overcome that, to toughen up, to learn to deal with it and get the hell out of there. That’s why I’m telling you all this, because if you’re going through the same shit I want you to know you can come to me. I can help you, Mom and Dad can help you...you don’t have to hide in your comic books, games, and forums to escape. Let </span>
  <b>us</b>
  <span> help you, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want to believe him. I want to trust him. But I...can’t. He keeps lying to me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not hiding from anything, George.” I was tired, so damn tired of trying to explain this over and over. Every time I thought he was starting to understand, he just cycled right back to reminding me that he still thought I was making everything up about my powers. I was glad to hear that he’d had bullying problems as well, but it was all worthless if he was going to keep treating me like a child when it came to the powers that I had. That he kept doubting </span>
  <b>me</b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He keeps doubting me. He’s making me doubt myself. Why? Why is this so hard to believe?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just want you to know that I’ve beaten this, and that we can beat it together, Greg.” He started walking towards me, but I was done with this. I was done with </span>
  <b>him</b>
  <span>. It didn’t matter if he was there for me with bullies and depression and loss and everything else...if he couldn’t even give me a tiny bit of trust when it came to my powers then I didn’t want any of it. “It’s just like any other problem. Medical, mechanical, technical, emotional, whatever...we’re here for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He keeps trying to trick me into thinking I don’t have powers. What’s that word? Gaslighting?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is he...jealous? Because I finally have something he doesn’t? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Because he ran away, and I stayed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mechanical...ha. Funny you should say that, because I think the real problem is that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>broke </span>
  </em>
  <span>and ran away, while I stuck it out and got powers. I triggered, and you’re just jealous. That’s why you keep shitting on me, why you keep pretending like my powers aren’t real. You’re like a broken goddamn record.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I think he was so taken aback that he literally stumbled back a step. It felt like I’d punched him, and I hated the feeling but at the same time felt so powerful. I knew I was being an asshole, but I was just so sick and tired of George putting me down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time I made a mistake, he was there to point it out. Every time I failed, he’d fix it. Mom and Dad always believed him, even when things weren’t my fault. He was the favored son...and I was the failure. I lived in his shadow, every day of my goddamn life!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But now I’m the winner, and I’m not going to let him take that away from me!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is serious, Greg.” George grimaced, as if it physically pained him to see me like this. “You can’t just keep running away from this, you could get hurt, badly. People aren’t like in your comics, they don’t just get better because a writer decides that it’s time for a new story arc or the artist forgets to draw an injury. People aren’t robots, with parts that can just be replaced or upgraded when they run down. People break, and robots-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robots? </span>
  <em>
    <span>You’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>the robot, George. Like the BASIC programming language we use at school...always with a GO TO 10 line at a certain point when it comes to my powers. You just keep coming back to treating me like some immature kid no matter what we’re talking about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to get in his face, my voice getting louder and louder and I couldn’t control it as I started to see his face turn red. “It’s hilarious how much of a </span>
  <b>coward </b>
  <span>you are, and how you keep trying to turn this around and pretend that </span>
  <b>I’m </b>
  <span>the baby when </span>
  <b>you’re the one who ran away from</b>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George hit me (</span>
  <em>
    <span>I deserved it</span>
  </em>
  <span>). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shoved me, actually, and I landed on the bed. It didn’t hurt (</span>
  <em>
    <span>except inside</span>
  </em>
  <span>), but we both reacted like it had been a stab in the gut (</span>
  <em>
    <span>or heart</span>
  </em>
  <span>). I was speechless, and George started speaking faster and louder than before, as if he’d saved it all up for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This, Greg. This right here. This is why you’re getting bullied in school, and why I’ve never reached out to you much before.” He breathed deeper with each sentence, but kept pushing on as I remained motionless on the bed. His voice sounded like he was choking. “Because you’re an immature little shit who gets teased and beaten down so much that you think punching down is the only way to lift yourself up. It’s wrong, it’s mean, and it’s sad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or like I’m choking him. I went too far. Why...why do I always do this? Why didn’t I stop?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“My time after Boston was horrible, painful, and yet I stuck around because I cared about my entire family. That includes you, even if you do lash out at me, our parents, my girlfriend, and even my job!” I saw tears begin to gather in his eyes, and one of his hands started scrabbling for the door knob before he found it and wrenched the door open. “I support you with every fiber of my being, because I love you, but you could never understand that...you don’t even try to!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George…I’m...I didn’t mean to-” My throat was thick with emotion, and I felt a lump in it so thick I could barely talk. I tried to get up, to regain the connection we’d had earlier. To apologize for having gone too far. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Too late. I broke it. I messed up. How can we come back from this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not speaking to you again until you apologize. To me, to our parents, to Melody...to everyone.” George stepped out the door, then turned back to pierce me with one last glare. “You want to pretend you have powers? That you’re a hero? That you actually give a damn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yes...yes!” I tried to shout back, my eyes so blurry I could barely see him. I felt so tired, but now my sadness was mixing with anger and something else. “I wanted to help people!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then stop saying you’re going to do something and actually do it!” George slammed the door behind him, but I could still hear him shouting from the hallway. “Anyone can brag or talk, but real heroes are people who actually try! The ABB and E88 are tough, but that doesn’t stop a hero from fighting. You want to be a hero...then grow hell up and do something with your life!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he went down the stairs (</span>
  <em>
    <span>wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>), out the door (</span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>), and I only heard silence (</span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t have cared less (</span>
  <em>
    <span>i’m sorry</span>
  </em>
  <span>) where he went. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was gone (</span>
  <em>
    <span>come back</span>
  </em>
  <span>), and I was alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn it all...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m sure that George probably thought I just stayed in my room and cried after that, and he was right. But after a few minutes my tears of sadness turned to tears of rage. As much as I hated to admit it, his advice had been good. I couldn’t just give up on my powers because of a few failures, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> couldn’t pretend that I needed powers to be a hero. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tinkers like Armsmaster and Kid Win were just ordinary people with fancy gear. Shakers like Vista were ordinary kids who had a special power. Thinkers were just smart people, but otherwise normal humans. Clockblocker was just a teenager with magic hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fact was, if I wanted to be a hero, I couldn’t keep letting fear of the unknown stop me. It helped that I was really mad. I wanted to hit something. I wanted to do something that </span>
  <b>mattered</b>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I got to my feet, then trudged into the bathroom and cleaned up my eyes, nose, and wounds as best I could. I glared at myself in the mirror, covered in bandages, and got a terrible idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>With a few more bandages, and all these bruises, I could be practically anyone under this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I went back into my room and dressed in some very specific clothes, as well as grabbing some special accessories. On my way out, I grabbed Mom’s voice recorder and Dad’s digital camera. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I headed outside, locking the door behind me, and started heading into town.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, George thinks I’m a scared child, huh? That I was just </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>pretending</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> to have powers? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I was going to do something that didn’t require powers. Something that would help people.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We’ll see what he has to say after the police and PRT are sending me thank-you letters.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I was going to go out and gather intelligence, to help others take criminals down someday.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll prove to George that matter. That I’m not just a stupid child. That I’m a hero.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It wouldn’t put me in danger. Even if it did, I had powers now.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll show them all that I can help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>****************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Wow Greg, going into the field with powers you still don’t understand in the slightest? Yeah, that’ll end well. Luckily this is just an intelligence-gathering mission, so there’s no way you’ll run into any real combat, danger, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>guys with guns</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nope.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edits 11Sept2020: The main issue I had in rewriting this was that originally we had the last chapter where Greg said he was going to slow down on the powers, and now in this one it was full-speed ahead. That’s why in the rewrite, he’s thinking that he doesn’t need them to be a hero. It’s still a dumb, angry, teenage plan...made to spite an older sibling, but as a guy who has done similar things to spite my own it seems believable.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. 1.6: Understanding the ABB</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Anger is something I’ve always struggled with. Even movies haven’t helped me figure it out.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There was one movie where a guy said something like, “There are two kinds of angry people in the world: explosive and implosive. Explosive people scream at the cashier for some small slight, and implosive people are like the cashier...who comes in to work the next day with a gun.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Before I triggered, I was explosive. I let it all out as it happened, and then picked up the pieces...or in most cases just left them where they were. But after I got powers I started finding myself to be implosive more often than not. It took a while to learn to control it and direct my rage, and by then...I’d done more damage than a gun ever could.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Given that I was directing that anger at a gang whose boss was practically rage personified, that might have been a mistake. I guess it was lucky for me that I wasn’t even a blip on his radar.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>George had been right about one thing, in our argument. He’d said that having powers or not shouldn’t have stopped me from being a hero. I knew I had to find a way to channel my anger into something positive. I had creativity, knowledge, and resources, and as a native of Brockton Bay anything I did to help my town was a step in the right direction. I had to find a way to </span>
  <em>
    <span>matter</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So here I was, angrily stalking through my town, seeking some evil. But not because I was going to fight it...no. I was going to gather information on it, and then hand it off to those who could fight it. Before I would have been too afraid, because I was just a cowardly nerd, I had always assumed someone else would handle it. But nobody ever had!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I may have been angry, but I wasn’t an idiot. I know if I’d told any sane person that I was planning to gather intelligence on the ABB, I’d have been laughed at or grounded for life. There were so many ways that things could go wrong, after all. The list was a mile long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First of all, I was so white it looked like someone dumped a bucket of white paint on me and drizzled some straw on top for hair. Second, I had no combat or social skills to speak of, aside from running short distances and rambling like an idiot. Third, I had no weapons, no armor, and no equipment that I could use. Finally, it’s not like I could just find their bases in a phone book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as it so happened, those last two weren’t entirely correct. See, I went to school at Winslow, and spent a more-than-healthy amount of time buying comics or video games in that part of town. That meant that I spent a lot of time seeing the ABB move around, and got advice from shopkeepers and school officials alike of what parts of town to avoid. It was enough to make a pretty simple map of where the ABB were most dense, and therefore...most active.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That took care of the final point. As for the third one, well...the ABB made the fatal mistake of choosing gang colors that were easy as hell to imitate when you were injured and had as much hero merch as I did. Which is why, as I reached a particularly dense part of their neighborhood, I ducked into an ever-convenient alley and started putting on my “costume.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, don’t think that way. This is a disguise. Note to self, burn these clothes when this is over.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My favorite heroes had always been the ones that were adaptatable, dependable, and had a good sense of humor. Every kid liked to find things about their heroes that they could identify with, and I had always figured that my best skills were my ability to compensate for my failures,  to use humor to keep an upbeat attitude despite my crappy life, and to stay focused on goals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that in mind, a few of my favorite heroes included Eidolon for his adaptability, Assault for his humor/wit, and Miss Militia for never giving up. Sure, I liked other heroes, but these in particular were ones that I looked up as being examples of the sort of hero I wanted to be. Even now, if I could ever get my powers working, I was basically on track to be just like two of them (Eidolon and Miss Militia) if things worked how I thought they did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a result of this, I had a lot of clothing and memorabilia geared entirely around my love (obsession) with capes and cape culture. Since their clothing lines and accessories were usually in the colors most often associated with them, you ended up with Armsmaster shirts in blue, Triumph hats in gold, and so on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why I donned an Assault sweatshirt (red), Miss Militia shoes (green), an Eidolon bandana (green), and both a Vista hat and sunglasses (green). With all my bandages and bruised face, I was essentially just another member of the ABB in their colors (Green and Red). It also helped that wearing bandages around their hands and faces was big among ABB teens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that I intended to put that to the test, mind you. If all went as planned, I’d never interact with them at all, since I already knew where they were going. I also knew that if I saw any guns, knives, or signs that I was in trouble, I would be ready to run. My “colors” would at least buy me some time to get back to public roads, I was pretty sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, to review: I knew where they hung out, I knew what they looked like, I looked enough like them to pass muster from twenty feet away, and I had a digital camera and voice recorder. So, having seen the ABB gathering in the warehouse district for the last three weeks as the school bus drove me home each day, I knew the ABB was up to something. I was just going to walk by, take some pictures of them gathering there, maybe even peek in a window, and then leave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By this time tomorrow, the PRT and Brockton Bay Police would be shutting their safehouse or drug lab or whatever down. A week later, they’d be thanking me, and that would help motivate me to ignore George’s hurtful words and stick to my guns.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah. I just had to keep telling myself that this wasn’t a bad idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This was a bad idea. Even worse, now I’m stuck.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d found the warehouse. I’d found the ABB. I’d taken some pictures of what looked like boxes of wine, buckets of nails, and more power tools than I’d ever seen in one place. I’d also recorded more than a few minutes of the ABB talking in a language that I was pretty sure was Japanese. They were eating lunch, and I’d just sidled right up next to them and started recording. One of them glanced at me and said something, but I just sort of grunted and nodded at him. It worked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was all well and good. So why was I panicking? Well, because as the men I’d recorded were packing up their lunches to head back in, one had stayed to talk to me. I of course had no idea what he was saying, so I just laughed and started to limp away. Maybe if he thought I was injured, he’d figure I would only slow him down?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nope, he was apparently the nicest ABB ever, because he swooped in and put an arm over my shoulder. Then we started walking (or he walked, and I got dragged along) towards the warehouse, with his words and my nodding grunts barely audible over the sound of power tools.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I really need to learn to think things through. Bad plans are one thing, but this was just...dumb.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Why didn’t I just run away? Well, that would be because this man had a sizable gun that I could see in his jacket. A gun that looked an awful lot like a Desert Eagle. So at this point, running was out of the question. No, I was just going to have to go along with this, and wait. If nothing else, now I could at least get some pictures and audio from </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> the warehouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time, I found myself wondering...</span>
  <b>
    <em>is it really this easy to infiltrate the ABB?</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Seriously, how were these guys still a thing? How had the PRT not shut these guys down yet? For all the PRT’s capes, faceless foot soldiers, and ribbon-covered Directors, I had outdone them in an hour. I wasn’t even trying, and I’d accomplished this much by just with cosplay and grunting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I had time to mentally insult them further, the guy with the gun (Gun Guy, I named him in my head) stopped at the door and banged on it twice. A huge guy (Huge Guy, man I was on fire with these names) in a ski mask opened the door, exchanged a few words with him, and then nodded and gestured for us to enter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside was what I could only describe as an indoor construction site. ABB, at least fifty of them, were walking around with materials, tools, and a variety of different jobs. I assumed that this was a work-in-progress, judging by the blueprints posted up on several walls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were amazingly detailed, and once again in a language I didn’t know. What I was able to recognize was that there were several little symbols all over the thing with secret doors, outlets, what looked like explosive symbols, and so on. This was like a supervillain lair, being built right before my eyes. They were even wearing hard hats, work gloves, and goggles.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nice to know that even the ABB cares about workplace safety. Crap, Gun Guy is staring at me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked around for an escape, and discovered three useful details. First, there was a group of skinnier ABB off to my left who were sorting nails, screws, and other small objects. I drifted in their direction, and after a small grunt they accepted me. My legs protested as I crouched down, but from this corner of the warehouse I could see everything and everyone, so it was worth it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was while I was pouring the nails they’d already sorted into a bucket that I noticed the second detail. Namely, that there was a sign written in English (finally) pointing the way to the restroom. It was my experience that there was usually an emergency exit by the bathrooms. Unfortunately, I’d have to cross the entire warehouse to get there, but I was sure I could pull it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Until I noticed the third detail...and almost wet my pants at who I saw across the way. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I won’t need that bathroom after all. I might die first.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ding Ding!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ladies and gentlecapes! May I draw your attention to the center ring!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Standing at just a hair over six feet, weighing in at 220lbs, shirtless since the day he was born, and with more dragon tattoos than a lifelong member of the Yakuza! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Undisputed Leader of the ABB! The Rage Monster of Brockton Bay! The Dragon of Kyushu! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>#6 on PHO’s “Hottest (no pun intended) Parahuman Villains in the World,” and #2 on the pun version!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Lung, Undisputed Leader of the ABB! *cheers*</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>I really don’t know how I missed him in the first place. Not only was he the only person in the warehouse not wearing any safety gear (a metal mask doesn’t count), but he was also the only person who was shirtless. Well aside from Huge Guy, who was approaching Lung now. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Guess he’s checking in with his boss. Come to think of it, he could practically be Lung’s twin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Seriously, if you ignored the crappier quality of his tattoos and his dollar-store ski mask, Huge Guy was almost a dead ringer for Lung. I mean, they were both huge, both shirtless, both masked, and both had dragon tattoos.  I’d almost have said he was a Lung Cosplayer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite that, something about Lung seemed more...impressive. Not just because I knew who he was and his long list of accomplishments, it was something else. It was like he burned with a sort of...vitality. I found myself staring at him, ignoring the fact that he was only about a hundred feet away and could at any moment notice me staring. I was just so engrossed with him, with the almost crackling aura of power and </span>
  <em>
    <span>warmth</span>
  </em>
  <span> that seemed to spread out from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, warmth? Also, what’s that odd haze around Lung? It kind of looks...familiar...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I think that was the biggest difference between Lung and Huge Guy. Sure, Huge Guy was big and strong, but Lung actually had a sort of...heat to him. I mean, yeah, he was a pyrokinetic who turned into a fire-breathing dragon, but otherwise he was just an ordinary guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, ordinary if you ignored him being a parahuman gang boss who was six feet tall and full of muscles (without even needing to come from a land down under).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, as I continued to look at him, I realized that there was indeed a feeling of warmth coming from him. It was like he was a crackling campfire, or several campfires, and no matter how far away he moved from me it stayed a steady heat. The feeling faded away as he moved out of sight, then came right back full force as he emerged from a hole that had been carved into the wall and was having a steel door inserted into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, if I really focused, it almost seemed like there were different...kinds of heat? As if he had several fires burning, each giving off a type of heat that made me feel a little different. As I looked at him, I could almost see each of them individually, despite them not having any real physical presence or location. They were just </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> inside of him, and yet a part of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first one I looked at made me feel stronger just by looking at it, and tougher as well. The heat coming off of it made me feel like gravity barely had a hold on me, and for a moment even my pain just vanished because it didn’t matter. It was like an energy drink mixed with armor, making me feel like I had boundless power while also covering me with unbreakable armor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second one actually made me sweat a little, and I even had to squint a little to </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span> at it. It was like staring into the sun. I felt like it burned me just from being observed...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The third one was my favorite, because it was like a sauna. Every moment that went by as I stared at it, almost reaching out to it with my mind, I could feel waves of almost pleasurable heat settling on my skin and sinking into my body. I felt like my pain decreased, my sore bruises faded, and even this impossible situation I was in didn’t seem so bad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the last one kind of confused me, and scared me. It was practically dormant, but despite the small size it almost seemed to be glaring back at me. Even though it was fairly small, I felt like it could flare up at a moment’s notice, going from a brush fire to a forest fire, with kindling that was endless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After over a day of the worst pain I’d ever felt, I’m not ashamed to admit that I found myself leaning into that third one, like a wanderer in the cold who’d come across an abandoned campfire that had a single tiny ember in it. I reached for it, without actually moving my body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like a pair of invisible hands had come out of my mind, and gently pulled an ember of that fire from Lung’s body...then held it close to my chest. Much like that hypothetical wanderer, I didn’t question the sudden warmth. I just </span>
  <b>savored</b>
  <span> it as it filled me from the inside...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oi!” A shout from behind me startled me out of my thoughts, and I looked around to see that my nail-bucket had started to overflow. My supervisor (Gun Guy) muttered a few things at me, then slapped my shoulder. I cringed from the expected pain from my baseball bruise, but I guess he only caught the edge of it because it barely hurt. It felt a bit warm, though, so I guess I must have started to sweat underneath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked around, and saw that the guys who had been carrying the buckets had all vanished, and it was just me. Gun Guy said something in Japanese, and pointed at the other end of the warehouse, where a bunch of mooks were building a scaffold and looking over a blueprint. I carefully lifted the bucket, my legs and arms straining as I made my way across the warehouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I moved, I looked around for Lung, but all I was able to find was his metal mask for a moment, as he vanished down into a hole in the ground. While it was interesting to note that this place had a basement (wonder if he made it himself), it also meant that I couldn’t study his strange auras any more. Although, I was still feeling the warmth from before, for some reason. That was strange to me, given that the last time he’d gone out of my field of vision it had faded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it was a nice feeling, and it made the trip from Nail-Sorting Corner to Nail-Pounding Corner much easier to put up with. Heck, my arms and legs didn’t even hurt as much as they had earlier in the day. Why, you could barely even tell that I’d been covered in more bandages than a mummy this time yesterday!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dropped the bucket off and got another slap on my shoulder, wincing in preparation as it struck me on that one bruise ag-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. That didn’t hurt. He hit me right in the bruise that time, and it didn’t hurt.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, that was the same place that George and Gun Guy had hit, but this time I hadn’t felt a thing. I ran my hands over the bruise, and was amazed to feel nothing more than my bony shoulder and some loose bandages moving around under my shirt. Had my powers </span>
  <b>finally</b>
  <span> kicked in and healed me? Was this related to that warm feeling I’d gotten from Lung? </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need privacy to figure this out. What has privacy and mirrors? Bathrooms. Twenty feet away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By faking a stomach issue, I was able to retreat to the bathroom and lock myself inside. Sure, one of the Nail-Pounding guys tried to follow me, but I just put my Greg Veder skills to use and made fart noises with my mouth. I also let out a few groans, and then hurried to one of the urinals and flushed it. The footsteps walked away, two voices laughing about something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a moment, I looked around what was possibly the cleanest warehouse bathroom I’d ever seen. Seriously, with a ten foot high ceiling, three metal stalls to my left, and a brand-new mirror about twenty feet away from me on the opposite wall over a bone-white sink, this was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>palace</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in front of the mirror and rolling up my sleeve, I was blown away to see that most of the bruises and cuts had completely vanished. Focusing on one cut in particular that still remained, I could almost feel that warmth in me surrounding it as the wound slowly closed up. In moments, there wasn’t even a scar. The warm feeling was still all over my body, feeling like a warm rain as it seemed to be healing my myriad injuries and problems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I removed my sunglasses and bandana, pulling my hood down as I stashed both in my sweatshirt’s big pocket. Before my eyes, I could see the huge bruise on my face starting to fade, a few splinters I’d missed being pushed out one by one. Even the pain from it was fading, and soon the warm feeling was retreating back into my...hmm, it wasn’t really a location in my body.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess it feels like my middle, but not my torso. I’ll call it my Core for now. That sounds right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The power sat in my core, crackling like the campfire I’d imagined feeling from Lung earlier. I felt stronger, I think. Braver might have been a better word. It was an odd feeling (especially since I was normally kind of a coward), and it took me a while to figure out why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d always had this sort of feeling in me like something was wrong. Call it paranoia, call it loneliness, call it whatever you want, but it wasn’t just hyperbole to say that I’d always felt a little empty inside. Ever since my trigger event I’d felt it even more than usual, and I was pretty sure that the feeling had only gone away for a few minutes after I’d used my powers...but then came right back when I woke up the next day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, during all the time I’d been limping home, doing my power testing, and even hanging around the ABB, I’d still had that strange sort of...emptiness in me. It was only just now, as I was fully healed and feeling happy that I realized I felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>full</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But it didn’t seem to be tied to my mood, my sense of self-worth, or even the accomplishment of finally doing </span>
  <b>something</b>
  <span> with my powers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, it was that crackling warmth, that power that had healed me and was still sitting comfortably deep within my soul. I felt different. I felt whole. I felt like something had changed, within me. Something was not the same. There was a feeling like I was finally complete, after so long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant that my powers had required a parahuman to actually use. Knowing that, it didn’t take me more than a moment to realize the reason all my Power Testing had failed was because I was, in fact...a Power Copier of some kind. I was a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trump</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, one mystery down. I feel pretty good about that! In fact, I feel like I can take on the world!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Something I felt less good about was the fact that while I was grinning at myself in the mirror, I’d seen the bathroom door unlock itself, open, and admit my old friend Gun Guy. I also didn’t feel great about him locking the door behind him. Or when he drew his huge gun and checked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or the way he isn’t flipping out on me for being a white kid. Guess my disguise wasn’t so good.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But despite all that, I still felt brave, strong, and confident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>These were new feelings for me, a kid who was normally very good at avoiding conflict and running away from his problems or trying to make excuses. So, perhaps I could be excused for acting upon them in the worst way possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which, in this case, was to cross my arms and try to stare Gun Guy down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gun Guy stared at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stared right back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a huge gun, at least twenty pounds of muscle on me, and an annoyed look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had a healing power I had apparently copied from Lung, a makeshift ABB outfit, and an uncovered face that would tell anyone who looked at me that I was blonde, white, and desperately in need of some time in the sun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, in what was probably the biggest twist, I wasn’t really feeling all that afraid of Gun Guy. I mean, yeah, he had a huge gun and that would hurt. Sure, bad stuff. But for some reason I didn’t really understand, I kind of felt like I could take on the world. Or at least one guy with a gun!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, whether it was overconfidence or some side effect of my powers, I decided to give him a break. Why not try to go for the diplomatic approach, after all? I figured I’d try talking to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One problem: Language barrier. Up until now, he’d been speaking a language that I was now certain was Japanese. I’m not really sure why I was now aware of that, but somehow I just seemed to know that he’d been speaking Japanese. I’d seen quite a decent bit of anime before Brockton Bay forced video stores to only carry dubs. Guess I must have known a few words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, this knowledge was still functionally useless, because as any anime fan can tell you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>just watching a lot of anime is not a substitute for actual language classes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sure, you can pick up a few phrases and bad words (first words I learned), maybe even some idioms, but there was no way that knowing how to cast Dragon Slave in Japanese was going to help me here. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, I was going to have to go old school. I was going to have to go back to a time </span>
  <em>
    <span>before</span>
  </em>
  <span> language, and use a method of communication that needed no words...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello.” I said in English, waving slowly as I spoke. I tapped my chest, then clasped my hands and gave him a big smile. “Friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Veder family, back when we were still a real family and they could stand to be around me for more than a few hours at a time, always used to have a Family Game Night on Saturdays. I may have been a failure at most card and board games, but I totally </span>
  <em>
    <span>killed it</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Charades. It was time for those skills to pay the bills...assuming that the bill was </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t get shot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gun Guy lifted an eyebrow, cocking his head at me, which made me nod and push onwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got Lost.” I held a hand up to my forehead, pretending to shade my eyes and then looked around. Finally, now that I was healed and could move without pain, I turned sideways and made myself look like the profile of the guy on exit signs. “Exit?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gun Guy was silent for several seconds, and I worried that my skills at charades had deteriorated. We used to play it all the time when my age was in the single digits, but it had been a while. Still, he looked down at the floor with his gun off to the side, so I began to stealthily shuffle forward. My feelings of self-worth were at an all-time high, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My plan was to get close enough that I could duck behind the metal stalls set to my right (his left), and since his gun was in his left hand it would limit his ability to shoot me dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, I wasn’t prepared for him to make his own attempt at communication.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tha fuck is wrong wit’ ya?” Gun Guy asked, a distinct Brooklyn accent adding a certain flavor to his anger and confusion. “Ya know, talkin’ like that, actin’ the way you are? It’s pretty fuckin’ racist and insulting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn right ya sorry.” Gun Guy pointed his finger at me, his face suddenly looking mirthful. “What? Ya think that just because I’m ABB, I don’t know any English? That I’m just some kinda Asian stereotype or some shit? Fuck’s wrong with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In my defense, you’ve been speaking nothing but Japanese to me since we met. I mean, how was I supposed to know you spoke-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ya coulda just asked! Christ, I came in here because my guys told me someone was shooting his guts out his ass!” He gestured at my face, growling. “Then I come in and see it’s the dumb white kid my Enforcer reported was takin’ pictures of my boys. I was gonna let ya off with a beatin’ after ya did some labor, but then you pull this racist bullshit on me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m being lectured on racism by the ABB. What the hell? Who the hell does he think he is?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This day had started wrong because I got </span>
  <em>
    <span>mad</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It continued to go wrong because I was making bad decisions. Unfortunately, now I was getting even </span>
  <em>
    <span>madder</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and not just because he was trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>claim </span>
  </em>
  <span>that he’d known I was a spy all along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only thing I could think about was that George was right...I was an angry, immature, shortsighted child. I had let my dreams and dumb plans get the best of me, and now I was locked in a bathroom with a gun-wielding ABB thug. I should have listened to my brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll bet George would have handled this perfectly. He’d probably make an awesome spy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My self-pity, my annoyance at myself, and Gun Guy’s words roiled in my head. But instead of getting sad, starting to cry, or begging for forgiveness, I was doing something else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I was feeling </span>
  <em>
    <span>confrontational</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>telling this asshole off</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was beginning to wonder if I’d copied more than just Lung’s healing power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I had time to think about it, I opened my mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Well, the important thing is that Greg realizes that his brother is far smarter, more capable, and prepared than him. Yep, no way would George ever go off half-cocked into a dangerous situation full of enemies and screw up. Nope. Wait, what? Oh, there’s an Interlude up next that says maybe George ain’t so perfect? Well...dang it all.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edits 11Sept2020: As funny as the ABB cosplay being taken seriously was, it was also crazy as heck to work by accident. Much more Greg to do it on purpose, but not be able to fool everyone. Plus, this allowed me to move Interlude 2 to be after this one more easily.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Interlude 2: Impossibly Challenging</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Edited 10Sept2020: My deepest apologies if this originally came off as an attempt to excuse/forgive Cricket or paint her as a victim. I had tried to give her motivation beyond just ‘nazi who kills,’ but overreached. This isn’t about redeeming her, but rather going with the idea that the PRT might do something other than just killing/jailing someone who they see as being useful. The point of this chapter, besides background on George, his relationships, and why he works for Medhall, was to handle the E88 outside the main story...Greg has better things to do.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[George, Three Years Ago]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Derek right?” I approached the handsome man, having waited until all the other new Medhall employees had taken their turn. He was tall, built like a brick house, and had a face made for TV. He seemed to enjoy speaking to everyone, especially the women, but I’d been patient and now we were the only ones left in the auditorium. “I’m George Veder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, George!” He shook my hand, squeezing far harder than necessary. “I heard about you! Top marks at Boston U, won a few awards, double major, and one of our ‘must-have’ employees. Glad to finally put a face to the name! How can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s nothing big, but I noticed something a bit..odd during your speech.” I leaned in, lowering my voice. “You’ve got a huge booger in your nose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached up and wiped at his face, then grumbled as I shook my head. “Still there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afraid so. Here, use mine.” I pulled out a handkerchief, a good thick one with a fancy stitch pattern on one side, and handed it to him. Even before he could use it, and I quickly mimed looking at my watch before turning away. “Aw dang, I’m late!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you forgot this!” I made sure to get at least halfway across the auditorium before looking over my shoulder, and saw that he’d stayed put with my handkerchief. I yelled back, continuing to walk away, “Just hold onto it for me, and I’ll come find you later!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another thought for him, I quickly made my way out of the auditorium. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Derek shrug and head back onto the auditorium’s stage, passing through the same curtain he’d entered from to the Backstage room. I heard voices as he opened the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That meant that Kayden Anders from Public Relations, Brad Meadows from Public Works, Melody Jurist from Security, and now Derek Fisher from Human Resources, were all in a room together. Unbeknownst to them, I was also in there, thanks to the little gift I’d given Derek.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A Tinkertech listening device hidden in a handkerchief. What’ll they think of next?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Once I’d settled into one of the bathroom stalls just outside the auditorium, I put my earpiece in place and used the dials in what looked like a glasses case to make a few adjustments. After a  few seconds of scratching noises, I could easily hear Derek’s voice describing...me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>-some skinny nerd, probably in love with me or something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Derek, you think everyone’s in love with you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” A rougher voice, deeper than Derek’s, as Brad groaned with annoyance.  “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Speaking of which, why haven’t you killed him yet, Kayden? You know Derek’s never going to stop hitting on you. Aren’t you and Max married?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I make my own decisions, thank you very much</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Kayden Anders replied, and I recalled how upbeat she’d been when talking about how we represented the company now that we all worked for Medhall. It made me sick, knowing that Purity was lecturing us on that. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Besides, with Max hiding out in Boston, pretending to be an embattled CEO, it’s not like he really cares what we do. This farce was his idea anyway, but he never does more than tell us what </span>
  </em>
  <span>not </span>
  <em>
    <span>to do</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, if he’s not saying no, and you’re not saying no..</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Derek interjected, and I could practically hear him wiggling his eyebrows. How this man had been chosen to pretend to work in HR was beyond me. He was a walking stereotype of a sex-crazed lunatic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I might have, but you’ve been wiping your nose since you got in here, so I’m going to have to pass</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Kayden replied, and I heard everyone laugh. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh Melody, don’t touch tha</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever Kayden was saying was cut off, and I snatched the earpiece out as a sharp crackling noise filled my ear. I immediately leapt to my feet and flipped a switch on the ‘glasses case,’ tossing it in the trash on my way out. By the time anyone found it, the components inside would already be dust and slag. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was panicking, I’ll admit, since I’d already gone off-mission. I’d planted the handkerchief on an Empire 88 Lieutenant a full week earlier than I’d been authorized to. I had just been so eager to get on with this mission, to bring them down already, that when I saw Stormtiger up there prancing about I decided to go for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d felt so angry seeing the E88’s capes dressing like normal people, acting like they didn’t have a trail of bodies a mile long behind them. Now I was being followed by an angry blonde with a buzzcut, one hand on the belt of her security uniform and the other reaching for me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I had time to formulate a plan, I felt a strong hand grab me by the shoulder and do...something. Next thing I knew I was pressed up against a wall, her arm pressed over my throat, and she was leaning in so close I could feel her breath on my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why did I agree to this again? Oh yeah...because it was the right thing to do.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[6 Months Earlier, Brockton Bay ENE PRT]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for coming Mr. Veder, we were very excited to interview you.” The man was bald, stocky, and incredibly pale, but judging by the way everyone else in this office had talked to him he was a heck of a boss. I’d been interviewing all week, trying to distract myself from the impending doom I’d felt for months, and his smile certainly helped. “Sorry about all the calls, but someone with your background and capabilities are quite hard to come by.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, it’s nice to be wanted!” I wasn’t just being polite. This company had left no less than four voicemails for me, as well as sending multiple letters. “I know my transcripts are good, and a double-major is always nice on a resume, but I’m still only halfway through my medical training.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, George, can I call you George?” At my nod, he continued, “George, we know that you have a lot of other opportunities, and in fact those interest us quite a bit. After all, if everyone at a restaurant is ordering the same dish, people start to wonder just what’s so good about it. In your case, it’s easy to see how driven, dedicated, and well-organized you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, you got all that just from my resume and transcripts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that and the vast amount of research you’ve been doing online. Looking into the E88, Medhall, and various connections between them.” My heart dropped into my stomach, and I began to regret having told my parents that I’d be home late. The pale man seemed to pick up on that, and held up both hands in a sign of nonviolence. “Oh, we don’t mean that in a bad way, George. In fact, we’re very impressed with all you’ve managed to find out by yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess I should have seen it coming. Eventually, the E88 would notice me...and silence me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When I had left home, the E88 had been a strong and dangerous force for evil in my town. The PRT swore they would do something to stop them. To stamp out white supremacy in Brockton Bay and arrest all the parahuman villains that threatened us all with destruction. But when I came home, years later...I found that things had barely changed at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents lived in fear, my brother lived in ignorance, and I’d only gotten more and more angry at the helplessness. At not being able to do anything. It reminded me too much of the horrors I’d seen firsthand in Boston, as my classmates and professors were slaughtered around my...all over a few scraps of land. I started to spend time away from home, hiking the trails that overlooked Brockton Bay, because at least from up there the town almost looked peaceful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One night, I had seen a shooting star, and wished on it that there was some way for my family to be safe, for my friends’ lives to not have been lost in vain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and then the star had landed on the Medhall building. Her name was Purity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I threw myself into researching the E88 and Medhall, and turned it over to the PRT. I kept waiting, praying that they’d do something, but never heard back. In the meantime, I tried to finish my doctorate, find a job, and try to distract myself from the world going to hell. I even held onto a job offer from Medhall, planned to burn it in celebration, but they kept right on existing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And now, this pale E88 stooge thinks he can just silence me. Well, not today, asshole!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Without warning, I leapt up and ran for the door. The man moved much faster than I’d thought, grabbing my shoulder and doing...something. Next thing I knew I was pressed up against the wall, his arm over my throat. Despite that, he actually looked apologetic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, George. My people are always telling me I have a habit of being too secretive, but I suppose that’s just a hazard of the job.” He stepped back, straightening out my clothes and  directing me to sit back down. With how easily he’d stopped me before, I carefully acquiesced. “Let’s start over, George. First...I am sorry for the way you’ve suffered up until now. Not only for the fear and pain you felt, but knowing that your family was suffering as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If he turns this into some kind of blackmail thing or threatens my family, I’ll kill him!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can see that you still don’t trust me, so I’ll stop beating around the bush.” He reached into his pocket with two fingers, pulling out two slips of paper and passing them to me. “One of these is a check for enough money to get your family to Seattle, so that you can go with them and do analyst work for us. The other...is an acceptance letter you can send to Medhall, saying that you need a few months of therapy for PTSD before you accept their offer. Choose one, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The check is...wow. That’s a lot of money. But I’d just be running away. Abandoning my town.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would I accept their offer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you are dedicated, like everyone else in this building, to stomping out the festering disease that is the E88, their backers, and white supremacy.” He steepled his fingers, staring at me with an unblinking gaze. “Tell me, George, how far are you willing to go to stop the Empire 88 and Medhall? Willing to put your life on the line? Endure back-breaking training? Work with heroes and criminals alike? Pretend to embrace the same people you despise?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do anything!” I glared at him, as if he was trying to scare me off. “No matter what it takes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very well. You may call me Nutcracker.” He smiled and held out a hand. “Welcome to Watchdog.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took his hand, and my entire life changed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[6 Months Later, being pinned by Cricket]</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m starting to regret not taking that check. This mission...I know I trained, but it’s horrible.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After I signed all the forms and NDAs, my </span>
  <em>
    <span>training</span>
  </em>
  <span> had started...and it had been crazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had trouble calling it training, because it was really more of a painful montage of cram school and acting classes, with extracurriculars in spycraft, learning all about the E88 and Medhall, and meeting the dozen people in our small spy cell. Apparently they’d been working on this project for quite some time, and were all very excited to have a new Watchdog teammate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moreover, I was now the new guy, so I got to be the training dummy for my many sparring sessions. Since I had actual medical training, it also meant I could take care of everyone’s injuries afterwards. Still, I like to think I learned a lot, and soon was at least good at dodging.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, it’s hard to dodge someone like Cricket. Is she ever going to say her line? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After glaring at me for another moment, Cricket (no, Melody) glanced to the side and saw that we’d finally been joined by some witnesses. She stepped back, then used her electronic larynx to say, “Sorry about that. You’re that new guy from Medical Implants, aren’t you? I </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Woo! Go Mel! Getting some of that new car smell on ya!” Derek’s voice made me glare at him, and I was annoyed to see that a mere thirty feet away were Derek, Brad, and Kayden. I would normally have protested, the very thought making me sick, but...a cover’s a cover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just go already.” She tugged on my arm and motioned for me to lead the way. “After you give me a better voice, we can go to the Security Office and fill out an incident report.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I heard Derek call something from behind us about ‘filling’ things. As much as I hated to even consider it, I still turned and gave him a big smile. Melody grabbed my hand and dragged me away, the aerokinetic nazi having burst into laughter at her reaction.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The things I do for my country. Ugh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[1 Hour Later, Medhall Security Office]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Her old voice unit in the trash (several years without maintenance will do that) and a new one making her far less painful to hear, we entered her Security office. I had tried to wander off, especially when I saw Brad and Derek following after us with an utter lack of subtlety. Despite my best efforts though, Melody grabbed my arm and dragged me inside, slamming the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shoved me to her desk, flipping me over it, and then leaned in so close I could feel her breath on my face. I was afraid she was going to tear my throat out for a moment, but again this was just for show. We had to play up the roles we’d been given, no matter how we felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She deliberately waited until we could see Derek’s face in the door’s window before she hit a small button on her desk. The glass frosted over, and my ears popped as an electronic hum joined the background noise of the security office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She released me, taking a seat on the desk as I rolled off it and straightened my clothes. When I was feeling more centered and ready for this talk, I crossed my arms and leaned on the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s wrong with you? You used the Tinker wire a full week early!” She looked me up and down, taking in my skinny form, lab coat, and admittedly unimpressive showing thus far. “I still can’t believe they sent me the Watchdog Intern instead of an actual Agent!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m an Agent!” I was mostly telling the truth, technically only being a Junior Agent because of the rush they’d put on my training. I gestured at her, sneering at her expression. “Besides, why are you the one getting mad? I’m the one who has to pretend to be in a relationship with one of the top three murderhobos on Kaiser’s payroll! Why is a nazi even helping Watchdog?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me?” She laughed, her voice much easier to hear with the new unit I’d given her. She shook her head and waved a hand at her door. “Newsflash dumbass, out of almost a dozen E88 parahumans only a few are actually die-hard nazis. Hell, even </span>
  <b>Kaiser</b>
  <span> doesn’t really buy any of it. They’re just here for the paycheck they get for hurting people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s all right then. You have morals, you just took money to kill non-white people for a few years because it paid well. So much better.” I glared at her, still unable to accept that she was actually helping us, and had been for nearly a year. It almost hurt my soul that she was trying to fake her way to redemption. “This sudden burst of kindness doesn’t suddenly make you a good person. You’ll never be forgiven for the things you’ve done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not doing this for forgiveness, dumbass. Didn’t Nutcracker tell you? I’m doing it because it’s the best of the bad choices.” Not even looking at me, she rolled her sleeve up and began tracing the myriad of scars covering her arm. “I didn’t exactly set out to become a nazi, actually I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You started with pit fighting, moved on to cape fighting, and then joined a nazi gang for money. Yes, I read your file, and I’m not buying this whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>betrayal of my boss for forgiveness</span>
  </em>
  <span> schtick.” I rolled my eyes, hearing her huff angrily. “Sorry, am I making fun of your attempt at moralizing your actions? My bad. Please, continue telling me how life was so hard for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at me for a long minute, then sighed and shook her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna argue with that. I fucked up. I know. I dug myself into a hole, and no excuse is ever gonna make up for all shit I did.” The way she talked, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt sorry for her, for just a moment. “Hell, half the time I still think you PRT assholes are just playing me. More than half.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smirked at that, seeing her so annoyed. Nutcracker had explained to me the way they’d used an extremely vague series of precognitive visions to get Cricket to come to the PRT, and then press-ganged her into becoming our person on the inside. Even if she was now saying it was all her choice, we both knew that she’d really gotten scared and taken the easy way out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Watchdog called me a year back, in my civilian ID.” She stared down at her hands, talking to herself as much as me. “One of their Precogs had a bunch of visions about me, and I wrote it off at first. But then, one by one, they turned out to be right. All except the last one...that in 4 years I’d die by Kaiser’s hand. They’d said that one was hazy, but only because I could change it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We were playing her, of course. Appraiser and the rest are wrong more than they’re right.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“You belong in the Birdcage.” It was a statement, one that made her flinch. “You deserve death.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” She looked down, smiling at something I couldn’t see. “After this is all over, I’m going to prison for life, no matter how well it goes. Watchdog argued that I was trusted by the E88, that nobody would suspect me, and that with my Security position I would be a better insider than a prisoner. So now instead of Birdcage or death, I get to try and make up-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make up? Why would they even trust you? You could destroy everything with a few words!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. They...did something to me.” She grimaced, putting a hand to her temple. I found it hard to feel bad. “I can’t tell anyone who isn’t PRT, or else...things happen. Powers are such bullshit. It cost them, but I guess they figured I was worth it. That I was useful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, so you’re a useful criminal. Whatever.” I crossed the room and held out a hand, and she took it after a moment. “I hate your guts. I want you to know that. No matter what I say or do going forward, all of this is just an act...a play to fool your idiot friends into trusting me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t get too big of a head, asshole. Don’t forget, you’re still the dweeby new guy, and also my new boy toy.” She stood up suddenly, grabbing me by the shirt and spinning to slam me into the desk again. “By now, Brad and Derek will have already spread our budding ‘romance’ to half the building, and it’ll get back to Kaiser within a day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, mission accomplished.” I growled at her, grabbing her shoulder and pushing her off me. I stalked to the door, pausing as she reached for the security switch. “Come see me off, and I’ll come back tomorrow at lunch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. We can get started on bugging the security systems then. They’ll just think we’re having sex or something.” The electronic hum vanished, and Melody moved to the door just as I opened it. I leaned in as she kissed me angrily, then shoved me out the door. “See you around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not if I see you first!” I called back, Derek already slapping me on the back and cheering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Later]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“-of course I’d like to tell you whose idea skinny dipping really was, but Sandra’s close to the knives.” Dad finished, my shoulders shaking from holding back laughter as Mom was indeed looking between him and her block of knives. She was also blushing redder than the tomatoes Melody was deftly dicing, so he seemed to take it as a win anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the first time she’d been to our house, but after several months together it was going to happen sooner or later. Rumors of our ‘relationship’ had spread through Medhall like a wildfire, and at lunch yesterday I’d loudly invited her to meet my parents. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I still wish Nutcracker would let me tell them something. I hate lying to my parents...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need the knives to take you down, Stanley.” Mom smiled nastily at him, flexing her hand and then making a fist, all her knuckles popping at once. Dad cringed back, and I think it was only half faked. Mom had a black belt in Judo, after all. She claimed it had been a part of her work as a librarian, but I was never sure if she was joking. “Anyway, dinner will be ready in 5 minutes, so why don’t you go get Greg and we’ll save trial by combat for later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The food was amazing. The company was even better. If it weren’t for the fact that our entire relationship was a sham so we could secretly gather information from a company that acted as a front for nazi supervillains, it almost would have been the most fun I’d had in a long time...except for one small detail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My little brother Greg, normally so passionate and full of words, was being unusually withdrawn. I had noticed the way he’d start to speak only to stop himself and look down at his plate, or look so heartbroken when Mom would tell him to quiet down and let other people talk. I knew these habits, because at one time they’d been my own. Given that we were both products of our environment, I knew that Greg was probably getting teased at school...maybe even bullied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Admittedly it wasn’t entirely my fault, since our parents had been equally clueless and smothering when I was in his shoes. Plus, Winslow was a highschool of garbage teens and teachers who couldn’t be paid to give a damn. Still, I felt a bit bad that I’d been so focused on my mission, Melody, and so much else that I hadn’t seen the signs and tried to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Soon as my mission is over, I’ll have a sit-down with Greg. I’ll try to make up for lost time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Even Later]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, you’re a mess. How the hell did that happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let out a squawk and grabbed for a towel to cover myself, Melody having just </span>
  <em>
    <span>appeared</span>
  </em>
  <span> next to me as I got out of the shower. It may have been her apartment, but I had still closed the door because I expected at least a little privacy. She scoffed at me and gestured at my (admittedly skinny) body, shaking her head. “What the hell am I even looking at, George?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I could formulate a response, she stepped closer and put a hand on my hip. Though I’d been wary of her touching me without warning the first few months of our ‘relationship,’ after nearly two years together I barely noticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We’d been forced to practice being close, engaged in more than a little PDA in public, and roomed together when Medhall made us travel to events. It was casual, nothing more than stress relief, and we didn’t make anything of it. She looked up into my eyes, and I wondered if this was just some kind of weird foreplay before one of those times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow!” This was not one of those times, because she dug a finger into one of the large bruises on my thigh. I tried to get around her and escape, but she’d shut the door on her way in and just poked me in one of the bruises on my back. “Cut it out! This isn’t a problem you can fix, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George. Seriously. Look at me.” I looked back and saw her glaring at me from between the hair she’d started growing back out last year, ever since Kaiser started letting her wear an actual mask. “I can’t have you going around like that, why can’t you just tell me what-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, this isn’t your problem. I can handle it on my own and you’re just-ow!” I flinched back, holding a hand over the bruise she’d just slapped. “What the hell is wrong with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, just because we’re in a fake relationship doesn’t mean I can’t worry about you getting hurt.” She undercut her seemingly caring words with another bruise-poke. “Your family loves you, and I...almost give a rat’s ass about you. Barely. Just tell me what happened already!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What? When the hell did she start to care about me? Why would she even bother?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>We’d talked about this sort of thing before. About our lives after the mission. I’d go on to get promoted at Watchdog, become a Doctor, or maybe even play baseball. But Melody? After our mission was over, she only had a life in prison to look forward to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was good. She had even acknowledged that it was what she deserved, not that it made things better. There would never be little kids buying her merchandise or going out dressed as her for halloween. No parahuman would ever make a costume or persona honoring her legacy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, she was still trying. I hated the Melody of before...but the Melody of today?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There’s already so much good coming from this mission...I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I reached out, and put my hand on her shoulder, and despite her glare she didn’t knock it off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was Derek and Brad.” Her body tensed under my grip, and I tried to give her a reassuring smile. “They keep hazing me, always knocking me into things. Unfortunately for them, I was bullied in high school, so I can just ignore them. No sense in making a big deal of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Screw that. We’re going to train you.” She glared at me, and I took a step back in surprise. “You need some muscles, some combat skills, and better situational awareness. When they see how ripped I’m going to make you, they’ll back the hell off. If not, we can tag-team beat their asses.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s really not necessary, Melody. I can handle this myself.” I turned to leave the bathroom, but felt a strong hand grab me by the shoulder and do...something. Next thing I knew I was pressed up against the wall with her arm on my throat. I let out a gasp, “This is...oddly...familiar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, this is non-negotiable. I’m not letting someone who’s pretending to be my boyfriend get treated like crap. Now, go get dressed and meet me in the gym. Time to get you in shape!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Now]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and on! But it’s not that I hate him or anything, I just hate what he’s become. When I came home from Boston and saw how enamored he was with cape culture, I had thought he was just being a kid...but he sees everything through a lens of fun and optimism that just isn’t healthy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d been talking since we left the church, Melody half-listening to my long rant about Greg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Plus, now he’s getting bullied at school, and I’m pretty sure Mom and Dad don’t know. I lied to them to protect him, and thank God they bought it, but it was a near thing. I just don’t know what to do about him, Mel.” I sighed, following her up the stairs to her apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No offense, but it sounds like you’re at fault as well. I know Greg can be kind of…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Childish, immature, idiotic, and prone to verbal diarrhea?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, you think </span>
  <b>he</b>
  <span> talks too much? Is that the pot calling the kettle black?” I felt my face heat up at that, and went into her office with her as she continued, “Still, I find it hard to blame you for having trouble putting up with his antics. He reminds me of a young version of Derek.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Not a young version of me?” I kicked the door shut with one foot, and crossed the room towards her. I made sure my voice sounded playful, and louder than normal. Melody smiled, and leaned back across the office’s desk to press a button next to its only window, lowering its shade. “Why would you compare him to Derek? What does Derek have that I don’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Money, good looks, more notches in his bedpost than common sense?” She laughed, placing a  hand on my hip. She leaned into my kiss, then withdrew. “All his women seem satisfied, as well. I don’t suppose you have something to say about that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I am rather skilled with my mouth.” I grinned, then leaned closer and...pressed a small button hidden on the side of the desk. My ears popped, and an electronic hum could be heard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much fun as that would have been, even on the uncomfortable desk, we had real work to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Our mission was almost complete, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Melody rolled her eyes at me, both of us staying silent as we heard the speakers set in the walls began to play the very lifelike recording we’d made a few weeks back of a particularly fun evening. The E88 bugs planted throughout the apartment would be none the wiser, and now we were finally free to speak normally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re ‘skilled with your mouth,’ George? Really?” Melody said, slapping at me lightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw it in a movie once.” I refused to change the subject. “So, you think Greg is like Derek?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, without the powers and body count, obviously.” She rolled her eyes, then saw me frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s no murderer true, but...check this out.” I slotted a memory card into one of the laptops we had, and showed her the video Greg had made of his...power testing. “I’m starting to think that he either triggered while we were out of town, or if nothing else is trying to make himself trigger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not good. Greg getting powers is the last thing we need right now. Although, if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> trigger...” She paused, then handed me a note from her desk. “This sound familiar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me see.” I read over the note carefully, and felt the blood drain from my face. An E88 Enforcer had reported chasing some kid who then...vanished. ”Who was the Enforcer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of the older kids down the block, that idiot with the knife who’s always bragging about running marathons-” I slapped my forehead, and she looked at me oddly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Knife Guy.” I groaned, then relayed Greg’s scattered story to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll question him. If he really did mess with your brother, I’ll make sure the PRT just happens to catch him in the act on his next activity.” She growled, oddly protective of Greg. “Maybe some time in Juvie or with one of their new community outreach programs will teach him a lesson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Either way, we should probably report in before Nutcracker thinks you killed me.” I pressed a few buttons on the encrypted laptop, entering a long code and letting it scan my face, before leaning back so we could both see it. “You know, for the tenth time this month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if to prove me correct, the screen changed to display a map of Brockton Bay with almost a dozen other faces spread around it. One of them, our pale leader himself, appeared to be in the middle of saying something about us, “-can’t trust that he will just...oh, there he is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry Nut, just sorting out some family issues. What did we miss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the next several minutes, our teams gave updates on their progress. Some were hacking emails and phones, others gathering information, and still more tracking E88 parahumans to make our eventual takedown of their leadership easier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, it was our turn, and this time Melody and I had a large amount to report.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It took a while, and I had to play diplomat for both Night and Fog, but I think Kayden’s finally  interested in making a deal with the PRT.” Melody sighed, having sent over the recordings of her talks with the glowing parahuman earlier. “She’s fine with moving, but only as long as she can take her daughter along. No interest in her step-son, though. Max can’t take him either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel bad for that kid, Theo. Even if his father is a monster...maybe he can still recover.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah yes, I saw the report from Director Armstrong that Max Anders’ fingerprints were on the coffee mug, and that James Fliescher nearly died from what appeared to be cyanide.” Everyone let out a little cheer at that, and one person in particular rubbed her chin. It had been her idea, and now we had driven a huge wedge between the E88 and their biggest backer. “Of course, some might be sad we only used a small amount. Lana, care to remind us all why? ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d be happy to, Nutcracker, sir.” Lana was a clever woman who knew more about Gesellschaft than anyone in our team, and had made this particular plan. “By merely framing Kaiser for Krieg’s ‘attempted murder’ we can now follow the man’s retreat...all the way back to Gesellschaft. I already have several Strangers and Tinkers tracking the man as he travels, including a particularly expensive contract with Othello of the Ambassadors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the meantime, Kaiser will be cut off from his greatest source of support, and his civilian identity was last spotted fleeing to an airport. He can’t afford to spend time in court or risk jail.” Nutcracker held two fingers very close together. “With all the other accomplishments we’ve had, our work this week has put us within spitting distance of the end. But remain vigilant!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to remain calm, though. Just a few more weeks, and this would all finally be over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We still had to deal with a half dozen capes, hundreds of thugs, Max’s lawyers, an international nazi organization with limitless resources, and a huge corporation with the latest in medical tech. Mercenaries like Faultline or the mysterious Coil were also wildcards in all this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a hundred little pieces to this plan, a dozen other operatives we were working with, and it all had to work out perfectly. Until it did we’d both be in danger of dying at any time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, and now we had to worry about my kid brother, Greg, who may or may not have had powers. I needed to repair our relationship, something I had no idea how to even start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was far too difficult for just one person to handle. Even with Watchdog at my back, an entire team around me, the PRT’s resources, and Melody, this still seemed impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But together, I knew we could make the impossible...just impossibly challenging. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Empire 88 didn’t stand a chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*********************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Angry at a gun-wielding ABB thug accusing </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> of racism, Greg fires back with a verbal barrage that leaves the man reeling. But beware, Greg, because even if you defeat this man, there’s a greater foe who lies beyond him...his boss!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: In many ways, George is what Greg should want to become. A capable, thoughtful, forgiving adult, smart and skilled. Driven by his passion and motivated by a goal bigger than himself. Too bad they’re so bad at talking to each other. Also, if you’re ever wondering just where the E88 are and why they aren’t a bigger part of Greg’s story...here you go.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. 1.7: Understanding Lung</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t get the gangs. They just make no sense to me, from a long-term standpoint.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On the one hand, they’re like a community group that allows similar people to come together for a common goal. That’s good! They’re led by passionate people, and those at the top serve as an example for those below that anyone can climb up with enough effort and motivation.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But on the other hand, they accomplish all of it with hate. They gather because they hate everyone else, they hurt everyone who isn’t in their group, and eventually they find themselves hated by everyone outside the group. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s what I don’t get. Every gang in the world has to know that someday their enemies will be great enough that their time will end. They must look back at all the other failed gangs in the world and realize that their future is right there in the history books. Yet, despite that, they keep hating, gathering, and hurting people. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It just...doesn’t make sense to me. Why would anyone stay with a group like that...or lead it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I let Gun Guy keep ranting, seeing he was running out of steam. He’d barely been going for a minute, and the Veder in my blood was disgusted at his lack of dedication to the craft. In the meantime, I let my own steam build up, ready to let loose on him the moment I reached critical mass. A time that was swiftly approaching, in fact.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This piece of shit, a member of the ABB, thinks he can lecture me on racism? The nerve...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is just like you Americans, always treating people like me like shit. Yer all alike!” Gun Guy shook his head and scoffed as my blood began to boil. “You white people wonder why the ABB is always on your cases, and we got the poster child for racial profiling and stupid assumptions right freakin’ here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough!” I slammed my hand into the metal door beside me, startling him. I felt a lot angrier than I should have, but there was still a moment of pride as I felt a little flash of warmth in my hand. Good to know the power was still there, keeping me in top shape. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smiled and raised my fist, then a finger. It was time for my counterattack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Number one, I’m not going to stand here and take lessons on racial sensitivity from a gang whose first two rules are ‘Asians Rule’ and ‘Everyone else drools.’ No!”  I slashed my hand through the air, cutting him off despite his sizable gun giving him more than enough reasons for me to shut the hell up. He grimaced, but stayed quiet. “You said your piece, and I’m not done!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was on a roll now, and my Greg Veder rambling powers were coming out full-force as some pent-up frustration burst out of me. I pulled the rest of my crappy ABB cosplay out and put it back on, continuing to speak as he stood there and took it. From outside I could hear a few people talking loudly about something, but my ability to care was at an all-time low.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Second of all, you guys liked me just fine when I was dressed like this and you couldn’t tell who or what I was, so fuck right off with that racial profiling accusation.” He twisted his lips at that, but then nodded and seemed to concede the point. Riding on the high of winning this argument, I moved on to my last point and stepped closer, pointing at his gun. “Finally, I guess it’s all well and fine for you to accuse me of being someone I’m not, but this whole time you’ve been waving that gun at everything but me, and with the goddamn safety on no less!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was off earlier, I just didn’t feel like shootin’ you ye-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit! I call bullshit on that!” Man, it was fun to be winning an argument for once. I was treating him like some kid in a costume with a fake gun, completely ignoring it as he started to raise it again. I didn’t even feel threatened anymore. I felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>like I could take on the whole world!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I pointed at him, taking another step forward. “You’ve been nothing but the model of safety since we got here, with all the hardhats and goggles. You’ve also been deliberately avoiding sweeping me with the barrel this whole conversation, so either put the gun away or just shoot me already!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a brief moment, I thought he was going to shoot me, but I wasn’t going to back down. He gave me a hard look, and then seemed to deflate a little and lean back against the cement wall. “Fuck, yer right, kid. I don’t like hurtin’ people, but a gun this big makes ‘em pay attention.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kidding they notice! Hell, this whole time I’ve been calling you Gun Guy in my head!” He laughed, and I joined him as if we’d been friends the whole time. With the gun out of the picture, I had a few inches on him and my fears of a bullet in the head were gone. I went on, adding, “But really, you don’t need the gun to impress. You’ve got a really good thing going on here, with this hideout you’re building. I think Lung is going to be really happy when it’s done.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pfft, it’s not a hideout!” He was still chuckling, shaking his head at me. Bragging, he explained, “It’s actually a Tinker workshop. Lung’s about to go out and recruit dis badass Bomb Tinker. Wants to get da place all readied up for her first, ya know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No shit? He’s recruiting Bakuda?” I felt a bit of cape-obsession coming on, and almost instantly recalled little scraps of info I’d seen on her. Apparently she’d held Boston hostage for a week, killed a beloved Math professor, and even the Boston Protectorate hadn’t managed to catch her. “So that basement you guys were carving out was what, a blast range for experiments?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not just dat, kid! We also got a whole big shipment of explosives, special materials, and other stuff comin’ in any minute now. Place is gonna have more boom than a 4th of July Spectacular!” He laughed, then seemed to sober up as he realized that telling all this information to someone who had (thanks to him) infiltrated his gang was probably...not the best move. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I watched his face go slack, and then he reached for his gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...look, Gun Guy, you really don’t have to worry. I mean, we bonded just now! We crossed cultural divides and I want you to succeed!” The smile vanished from his face, and I started to hold up my hands as he sighed at me. “Why don’t we just part ways as friends, and I’ll-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gun Guy obviously didn’t want to be friends, because he pulled his gun back out and clicked off the safety in a practiced motion. Though he wasn’t pointing it directly at me, it was just over my shoulder as if he was trying to decide whether to shoot me in the head or the chest. I crouched down a few inches, and even though we were a few feet apart it still felt like he was too close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m sorry kid, but if it makes ya feel better I’m not gonna be killin’ you because-” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You’re not going to be killing me at all, because I’m going to strike first, asshole!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With the feeling of fire in my blood, adrenaline in my brain, and a healing power in my core, I rushed the last few feet between us, his gun going over my left shoulder so close that I felt his arm rub against my sweatshirt and the side of my head. His whole arm had locked up, and it felt like an iron rod was on my shoulder as I reached up for his face with both hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt small cuts under my fingers, the kind that came from shaving with an old razor, as I grabbed his head with both hands. He let out a surprised little grunt, one of my hands over his mouth, but by the time he started to react it was already too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I heaved with all my might and slammed his head into the cement wall behind him. I was maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, and almost none of that was muscle, so I worried for a moment that it hadn’t been enough. But I guess </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> counted in horseshoes, hand-grenades, and head-slams, because the amount of force was enough for his eyes to roll back into his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fell to the ground, but I didn’t hear it. I was too busy reeling in pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gun had gone off in my ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s hard to describe the pain that comes from having a deafening explosion go off right next to your ear. This was worse than hands clapping right next to my ear. Worse than the time someone popped a paper bag next to my ear in Junior High. Even worse than when Madison Clements tried to whisper a secret to me and just screamed in my ear for a few seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like a pressure wave smashed into the side of my head, got sucked into my ear, bounced off my brain, and then spat itself back out with so much force that I nearly fell over. Both ears popped, and a ringing sound was echoing through my head. I had a hand on the wall, but if not for that I’d have had no idea which way was up...and could feel something warm in my ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ow! I never thought it would be this bad? How are people in action movies not all deaf?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I soon realized that the warmness in my ear wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> blood leaking out, but also that my Healing power was doing its thing. In less time than it took to whisper the alphabet (a fast and easy way to test my own hearing), I had my ear back to normal and could even stand up without a wall to assist me. Gun Guy was still out cold and I knew that more ABB would be along soon, so I unlocked the door and stumbled out into the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To my right, about fifty feet away, was what looked like a big metal garage door. Just beside the big door was a smaller door, but it had an Emergency Exit sign on it and blinking red light. The fact that Gun Guy had shared the whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bomb Tinker</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing made me worry this was some kind of explosive, and the loud noises of machinery coming from that direction didn’t make me excited to test that theory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To my left, on the other hand, were countless ABB members, Lung, Huge Guy, and who knew what else. Given that I was fully healed, my ABB cosplay was intact, and I could still feel the crackling campfire-like healing power in my core...I decided to go to the left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was riding the high of my win (so to speak) against Gun Guy, and strutted out into the warehouse to find that all the workers had apparently left except for one. Unfortunately for me, it was the worst one of all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was pretty sure he hadn’t spotted me, so I very stealthily turned around and went the other way. I figured that I could maybe break a window, or use that metal door to get to the loading dock without risking any bomb-related shenanigans. Worst case, I could just try the door with the blinky light, and hope that it was just a fire alarm or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I passed the bathroom door, I heard Gun Guy groaning and shuffling around. I then made the mistake of looking behind me, and was even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> disturbed to see that Lung was following me. It was a slow, meandering walk. As if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> an infiltrator and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to kill me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He even waved.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Geez, no wonder he’s the boss. I guess he can afford to be lazy, with his pile of powers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With Lung behind me, the sound of the bathroom door opening close by, and dozens of ABB lurking nearby, it was high time I made my exit. Despite there possibly being a bomb on that door, it was now a far more appetizing opponent than Lung. Maybe if I ran fast enough, I could get through before it exploded and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two gunshots and a loud shout rang out. A bullet hit the door just as my hand brushed against it, and I paused. I also leaned heavily on the doorframe because the other bullet had slashed along my ribs. Flesh wounds, despite all the jokes about them in British comedy routines, are pretty painful. It felt like someone had run a cheese grater along my ribs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt the warmth of both blood and my healing power as I turned to see Lung and Gun Guy in an argument. Luckily for me, they were arguing in English. Unfortunately for me, I was the subject of their discussion, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going in my favor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you to deal with this, and yet I find you injured and him escaping. I am disappointed in you.” Lung’s voice was a rich, rumbling baritone, and he spoke with a slow careful cadence that made me think of a translator or someone who was used to public speaking. “Give me your weapon. You seem to think so highly of it, waving it around as though it makes you powerful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gun Guy held the weapon out, and Lung snatched it from his hands faster than a striking cobra. He began to squeeze, and we both watched in silence as a reddish glow erupted around the weapon. The gun began to warp, twisting with a screeching noise before he dropped it to the ground. “You posture with a large gun, but the man who holds it is small and weak!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as I would have liked to see Gun Guy squirm or to push my way out the door, I found myself focusing on the ‘campfires’ I could still see in Lung. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was able to ‘see’ them faster this time, and as he continued to rant at Gun Guy I was interested to see that the one that had made me sweat appeared to be burning hotter and larger as Lung used his power. Also, when he’d been squeezing the gun, the one that made me feel strong grew a little bit as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two fires remained mostly dormant. One was the fire that had soothed me, the one I could feel crackling warmly inside of my own body, and it sparked up for just a moment as Lung shook out his hand and a small cut  vanished. The other was the scary one...that forest fire one. I could feel it glaring at both Gun Guy and yours truly, as if daring us to take Lung on...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, so besides just copying powers, I’m also able to see representations of them...in use?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, stand there quietly while I deal with this intruder.” Lung growled, and turned to face me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit. Okay, think about powers and campfires later, survive the rage dragon now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My first thought was to just slam my way backwards through the door, alarm or no alarm. Sure, it would summon all the ABB in a matter of moments, but it was also better than being stuck in an otherwise dead-end hallway with my only other escape being </span>
  <em>
    <span>through</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lung.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for some reason, as Lung glanced in my direction for a moment, I actually found myself stepping </span>
  <em>
    <span>away</span>
  </em>
  <span> from the wall. I felt like saying something, challenging him and getting the first strike in, and it took every fiber of my being to keep my dang mouth shut for a change. There had to be a way out of this, I just needed a minute to think!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite being told to simply play observer, Gun Guy pulled out another gun and stepped back. This one was slightly smaller than the last, a Beretta 951 9mm pistol (I play shooter games sometimes, sue me). It didn’t escape my notice the way he kept it to the side and out of Lung’s field of vision...nor the way he immediately clicked the safety off. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, so much for just running out the door. Although, with my healing...still an option, maybe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, boy...I am told that you sought to infiltrate my gang. To gather information on us, walking among us like a housecat among tigers.” Lung was about fifty or so feet away, but I actually felt like he was looming over me.  A ball of fire appeared in his hand, growing faster than before, and stopping at about the size of a basketball. He pointed it at me. “The ABB has a code, as well as membership that is literally in our name. What would possess you to act so foolish?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, actually...um….the thing is.” I paused, holding up a finger to indicate that I actually had some kind of point. Nothing was immediately coming to me, other than a really stupid idea. But, as Dad used to say, any idea is better than no idea. “I wanted to join. I’m actually Asian.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Dat’s impossible! I saw you, yer as pale as a ghost and blonder than one’a Kaiser’s bimbos!” Gun Guy was scoffing, looking back and forth between Lung and I. He started to laugh, as though it was some kind of hilarious pre-death joke I was telling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thing is, Lung wasn’t laughing. Instead, he motioned with the non-fire hand. “Go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Time to lie like I’ve never lied before. Luckily for me, I’ve lied a lot before. I hate that phrase.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, my family actually hails from the southeastern part of Russia, and one of our family branches is from Kazakhstan. Though our blood is a bit mixed thanks to various Americans we’ve fallen in love with over the generations, we still have strong ties to the continent of Asia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is...interesting.” Lung actually seemed to be considering this, or he was just humoring me. Either way, it let me reach into my pocket for my phone. “You know much of your family line.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, my parents were always very big on heritage, and I respect them a lot.” I figured that was something that might work well on Lung, given the way he’d been talking earlier. I mean, yeah I know the whole ‘Japanese guy loves honor’ thing is kind of a stereotype, but this was an Asian guy who literally turned into a dragon. “Both of them always wanted me to understand where I came from, and that the world is much bigger than just what I’ve grown up to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your parents are very wise.” Lung complimented my parents, or at least the fake parents that I was completely making up as we went on. I just nodded silently, respectfully, and falsely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a really good thing Lung couldn’t see my face right now, because I had absolutely no poker face to speak of. I had yet to win against George at Uno, back when we actually used to play together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you are suggesting that by using the name Asian Bad Boys, I am opening myself up to people who will try to join because their definition of ‘Asia’ is of a larger area than my own?” Lung placed a hand on his chin, deep in thought, and the fireball in his other hand began to shrink. It was down to the size of a baseball, and Gun Guy looked like he was going to have a heart attack.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is this actually going to work out? Have I beaten Lung with words? Is he just messing with me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too bad that I wouldn’t be able to brag about this to anyone. I mean, the only proof of this entire day was going to be my own memories, and probably the journal entry that I’d write when I got home. I was certain that nobody would believe me anyway. I mean, how likely is it that a new hero in a homemade costume would just happen to run into Lung on their first time out?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lung sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As anyone who has ever played D&amp;D can tell you, a sigh is never a good thing when trying to convince a dragon not to eat you. I’ve played more than a few games (mostly online), and can tell you that a dragon sighing is almost as bad as a Dungeon Master smiling...or asking if you’re “really sure that you want to drink that potion?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when Lung sighed, I just backed up a step, put my hand on the door, and got ready to run for my life. I had one last play to make, and simply had to hope that a villain who made his name from having shitty anger management skills would be willing to lose his temper for me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Besides, I don’t see why you’re mad. You should be proud of this Tinker Workshop you’re building for Bakuda.” I said, speaking quickly before he could reveal my likely flaming fate. The fireball started to grow again, but Lung’s baleful glare snapped to his side as I added, “Gun Guy told me all about it. He wouldn’t stop talking about it. I think he even called someone about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Lung started to roar at Gun Guy, I burst out the door and set off a hell of an alarm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other side of the door were several trucks, a couple ABB guys, and a huge pile of boxes on the loading dock. Many of the boxes were covered in bubble wrap, various symbols, and more warnings than I’ve ever seen. A few were even in English, but I had no time to read them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I needed to take cover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, I wanted to duck into an alley and run for my life, but even from here I could see a few ABB members standing in the only visibly alley and watching me. I wasn’t sure if they were waiting for me to try and run before attacking me or considering rushing in to help Lung, but either way I couldn’t go that way right now. The blaring alarm would keep them away, at least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reason I was taking cover was because I had seen Lung idly toss his fireball at me. As long as I kept running, I at least had a few seconds before it hit me, but that also meant I’d have to dive </span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> cover. So as I passed by another pile of boxes, I tried to do that cool diving roll thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bullet sliced past my arm, giving me another flesh wound and throwing my already wild roll off a lot more than I wanted. It also spun me around enough to see Lung was busy messing with the door, holding Gun Guy’s shirt and probably asking him how to turn the alarm off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, I was already in motion, and now instead of rolling behind the boxes I rolled </span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My face hit the box, and I had the strange (and painful) feeling of my nose breaking. Pain overtook my thoughts for a moment, moreso as both knees smashed into the ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On the plus side, I dodged the fireball and Lung’s too distracted by the alarm to throw another.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The heat of my healing power split between my knees and my face, having finished healing my newest flesh wound already. It was getting faster at that, I idly noted. Then I lost track of time for a few seconds as my nose </span>
  <b>un</b>
  <span>broke, and my kneecaps </span>
  <b>un</b>
  <span>shattered. I’d watched videos of people breaking things and then reversing the tap...but in this case I actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>felt</span>
  </em>
  <span> it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For reasons I didn’t fully understand, I got back to my feet. It took a moment, but I realized that I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>surveying the battlefield</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This felt like an opportunity, and I was smiling wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lung was tearing the wall apart and had grown a few inches, but it was still slow going as he’d apparently not gotten enough of a challenge to Ramp Up. Even with his Brute Strength and toughness, they’d picked this place to be a Bomb-Tinker’s new base, so it was tough as heck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Going another route, Gun Guy was looking through some kind of instruction manual, trying to find a code to punch into the little number pad next to the door. He was distracted, of course, by the ABB delivery guys who kept trying to run off or move the boxes. Some would move boxes closer to Lung, as if delivering them so they could leave, and others just yelled into phones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In other words, they were distracted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The reasonable thing to do would have been to leave. I had healing powers, I had escaped the ABB, and they probably wouldn’t even notice if I ran off. Hell, between a bullet and a fireball, hey might have even thought I was dead! Now was a great time to cut my losses (wins) and go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I had felt something surging through me. I’d felt it before with Gun Guy, and Lung, and was now feeling it even stronger as I stood and watched them fail to stop the alarm. My blood was pumping, my adrenaline was surging, and my heart was racing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something inside me said that running was for cowards. That I was a warlord. That this was my property, and I had to take it back. That I had powers now, and there was no better time to train with them. I even began to chuckle, realizing that I could do it without Lung even noticing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I still crouched behind one of the boxes a little, just in case. But only to rest my legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For whatever reason, I was feeling brave, confrontational, and like an all-around badass who didn’t have an ounce of reason to run away from a very one-sided confrontation. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I think I’m getting these feelings because the power came from Lung. Like his...personality?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, that was probably going to be a double-edged sword when it came to these powers if I was right about that. Taking a power from a coward would make me more cowardly, from an asshole would make me a jerk, and so on. Right now, the only downside of Lung’s powers was that I was getting reckless because of his...let’s call it Confrontational Bravery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, part and parcel of this recklessness was what appeared to be bottomless confidence. That was further bolstered by my fully healed body, that seemed to be actually healing faster than before. Finally, most important of all for a fight with a parahuman who has multiple powers, I was a Power Copying Trump and had FOUR powers standing a hundred feet away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, that entirely explained why my power testing had been such a complete failure. I didn’t have any parahumans around to copy off of, so naturally I was just a baseline human when surrounded by other civilians. Now that I had finally met one, it was all obvious. I felt like I’d been taking a test and failing, and then found out that it was actually an open book test!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, I wasn’t going to stay here forever, because they’d fix that alarm eventually. I’d give myself three minutes and take some time to test a few things out, then snag the Heal power again and run off. I had so many questions! Could I copy more than one? Could I double them up? Why did the one I had on Friday vanish overnight? Was there a time limit? Was it distance-related? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My point is, this meant that I needed to practice with my powers, and what better time to do that than when I had a walking power </span>
  <em>
    <span>buffet</span>
  </em>
  <span> sitting right here in front of me? Lung didn’t seem to have noticed that I had taken his power before, and he’d still healed without problems while I had my copy, so there was no danger in trying the other ones out. Plus, if I got hurt, I could just snag his healing again and run like hell...burns and bullets would heal easily. It was perfect!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still...I felt like maybe Lung’s Confrontational Bravery was just making me </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> that this was a good idea. Maybe it was actually a bad one, but I wasn’t capable of recognizing that. Sure, my power lets me take risks, and I </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> want to know more...but I needed to set limits.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Compromise: Three tests and I leave. That’s it. Although...copying all 4 powers is just one test.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, so first question...can I copy the same power twice? It was similar to the question that anyone who ever found a magic lamp asked, wanting to have more of a good thing. In my case, even though my core felt like it was already full, it couldn’t hurt to try and cram another in there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So I focused on Lung’s Healing Campfire again, recalling the feeling I’d gotten, and...nope. It just kind of hit the one in my core and fizzled out. The one I had stuck around, but it seemed like it didn’t overwrite the old one so much as just not really do anything. Strike one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Second question: What happens if I copy a different power into my core when there’s already one there? Do I get both? Do they combine? Or does the new one just overwrite the old?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Focusing on one of his other powers, I felt it being drawn into my core. The healing power guttered and died, like a fire someone had poured water and dirt on. There was a brief moment where my body went kind of numb and I could swear I felt my heart stop, but then I went back to normal after a moment. It kind of felt like I was colder than before, but otherwise no different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been strange. Unfortunately, before I had time to consider the ramifications...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I heard a scream from my left, and turned just in time to see a bat coming at my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s attacking me from behind? Well, that’s rude. I just healed this face!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>*************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg continues to train in harsh conditions, learns a lot about himself, and maybe even picks up a valuable lesson from his mistakes. When things start going really bad, he tries to escape. Unfortunately, the place he escapes to may actually be worse!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edits 11Sept2020: Cleaned up a lot of the Gun Guy and Lung encounters to be a bit less crack, and a bit more desperation/action. Greg does have a bit of Lung in him, after all, so being cunning is entirely possible. Also, a bit less of a dope on the power realizations.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. 1.8: Understanding Hospitals</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have nothing but the highest respect for real-world heroes that are doctors (like my Dad and brother). I can’t imagine the difficulty experienced by the countless doctors, nurses, field medics, lab technicians, implant specialists, and more who make up the medical field. The stress, the level of skill, and the dedication they show by spending their lives helping others. Despite that, I was still afraid of doctors...something that didn’t really go away until after I triggered.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When I was younger I used to get beaten up, and after each I’d have to choose between:</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><ul>
<li><em><span>Go to school nurse, tattle on the bullies, and then feel good until they did it again, or</span></em></li>
</ul><ul>
<li><span>Hide it, but eventually get found out and then get in trouble by saying it was my fault.</span></li>
</ul><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So no matter what, I got hurt. It wasn’t long before I started to fear doctors, some authority figures, and even asking for help from other people. I tried to do it all myself, even if I kept failing and having to get others to clean up my messes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nobody ever said that anxiety made sense. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>GregV. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is fine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As an ABB thug swung a baseball bat at my newly-healed face, I felt oddly unconcerned. I mean, there was a Healing power right over there in Lung, and the feeling of Confrontational Bravery that I was getting from Lung powers made obstacles like this seem trivial. Still, it did make me wonder if it was the addition of powers making me act this way, or just </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lung’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, the bat smashed into my forehead as I turned at the last second, glaring at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bah, disappointing. That feels like a nerf bat. I was expecting that I wouldn’t even feel it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I ignored what felt like a small bruise, and continued to stare silently at the ABB thug who had struck me. I was about to ask him what the hell his problem was, or make some other cool line that wasn’t coming to mind, when I heard a wooden clattering noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of us looked down, watched as the other end of his bat rolled to a stop, and then looked back up at each other. Even knowing he probably couldn’t hear me over the alarm, I remarked, “Brute powers are pretty awesome, huh? Is it </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> turn to hit </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I guess he was thinking the same thing I was, because he dropped the bat’s handle and ran like hell. Looking around, I could see that there weren’t any other fighters, so I got back to testing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s two strikes. Okay, I need to try and be more scientific about this.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>First of all, I took better cover, since standing out in the open was dumb. Second, I took one last look around for bat-wielding lunatics...nope, all good. Third, instead of just grabbing powers, I decided to focus on how it actually felt. I needed to do this </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, since I’d be doing it a lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fine, let’s take it from the top. Start by looking at a parahuman, to see their powers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Easy. I looked at the Lung, peering at him over my chest-high box shield, and saw that he was still working on that alarm problem. Gun Guy was pushing buttons on the number pad by the door (and yelling when it didn’t work). Neither cared that I had taken a bat to the face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I focused on Lung, and after a few moments...there! He had a sort of haze around him, and even faster than last time I could see four things sort of...floating around inside him. They weren’t literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> of him, but it was like he was an outline and they were just different shades of red that some kid had colored inside his lines. They kind of felt like campfires to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, now concentrate on the ‘campfires.’ Don’t they seem different? Is each a power?  </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Each of them had a sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling</span>
  </em>
  <span> to them, and now that I was able to look at them in detail I could even see that they each changed as Lung drew upon their power. I’d seen the same thing earlier, when he had crushed and burned Gun Guy’s gun, but hadn’t had time to appreciate it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Lung growled and punched at the warehouse wall, the campfire that felt strong (his Brute power?) was blazing. I’d heard that even without Ramping up Lung was still tough enough to have taken a crowbar to the back of the head without a problem. Heck, I’d seen a video where he broke a man’s arm just by squeezing it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He used his other hand to blast the wall with some fire, and I saw how it made the campfire I had linked to his Pyrokinesis roil up a bit. What was interesting was that his Brute campfire </span>
  <em>
    <span>also</span>
  </em>
  <span> grew a bit. Maybe he was countering the force of the fire to keep his aim steady? The punch must have bruised his knuckles, because the Healing fire sparked a little, which made sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the last of his powers just kind of stared at me and </span>
  <em>
    <span>crackled</span>
  </em>
  <span> a little. No, really, his Ramping Up power had been entirely dormant this whole time, but whether it was Lung’s own frustration (or my presence?) the things had started to spark a bit. In fact, if I looked carefully I could almost see the man himself growing a few inches before my very eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He still wasn’t paying any attention to me, but I ducked a bit lower behind my box of wine just in case. At least, I assumed it was wine. It had a picture of a wine bottle on it, and so did a few of these other boxes. I wondered if this was part of some plan to have Bakuda make exploding wine bottles, or maybe wine that made people explode when they drank it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nah...no way a villain would be terrible enough to put bombs in people and make them explode.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Drinks aside, I now had the </span>
  <em>
    <span>See Powers</span>
  </em>
  <span> part pretty much under control, time for Step 2! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, rather than just staring at a power until it was a part of me, I actually tried to visualize the process. It kind of felt like I was reaching out with two long, invisible hands, stretching them out from me to Lung and grabbing one of his powers. It made my experience with Velocity make a lot more sense, since that night I </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> felt like I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>reaching</span>
  </em>
  <span> for him before I copied his power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mental hands were invisible, and as they closed over his Pyrokinesis power it felt like I pulled it out...but the original stayed behind. Now that I examined it, even as the hands drew it back to me, I could see that it was a little more faded than his, which explained why my version seemed a bit weaker than the original. Nodding, I placed it in my core and crouched down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like what had happened when I switched from Healing to Brute, I felt an odd change wash over my body. Instead of a sudden coldness, this time it was like all my skin crawled for a second, but it didn’t last long. Still, the Pyrokinesis was happily sitting in my core, and I felt like doing the thing </span>
  <em>
    <span>every</span>
  </em>
  <span> kid wants to do when thinking of fire powers...make a fireball!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, hold out my hand, imagine fire being there, push on the power and direct it...Whoa! Shit!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I must have skipped a step, because not only did a lance of fire blast into the air, but it hurt like hell! I quickly cut the power off, and started blowing on my hand as tears came to my eyes. I was afraid to take my glove off, but I could already see some reddened skin and what looked like a blister forming in the hole I’d made. The pain faded, but it still looked horrible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Telling myself that a Healing power was right over there, I tried to go through the steps again. This time I pressed down on the power to keep it very weak, as well as trying to form a ball </span>
  <em>
    <span>over</span>
  </em>
  <span> my hand. A baseball-sized sphere of fire formed, and I even noticed that this time it barely even stung. It felt more like my hand was held over a candle than a stove, which was odd.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is it just me, or is even that pain fading? Did I damage my nerves, or am I adapting to the-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bullets hit the box I was hiding behind, and I slid out from behind it to see that a few of the ABB were going after me again. This time they were keeping their distance, as well as hiding behind the truck near Lung. Before I even had time to think about it, I let my fireball quadruple in size and lobbed it at them. Like the world’s most deadly beach ball, it hit their truck and exploded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the plus side, that scared them into running away, past their leader into the warehouse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the minus side, that same leader was now eight feet tall and finally noticed me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> minus side, Lung took a moment from his alarm-debugging to lob several fireballs at me, setting several of the boxes around me on fire but missing me entirely. His arm was jammed into the wall up to the shoulder, probably looking for alarm wiring, so he was stuck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely</span>
  </em>
  <span> minus side, I recklessly growled back, and decided to fight fire with fire…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wants to grow and throw fire? Let’s see if he can take on a dragon his own size!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>...by copying his Ramping Up power and slamming it into my core.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My body went cold, and things got crazy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a warlord gang boss kind of guy, it’s not in Lung’s best interests to actually tell people how his powers work, like some kind of anime villain. Luckily, as a Brockton Bay citizen and cape geek, I have a pretty good idea of how his Ramping Up power works.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the most popular name for it suggests, it Ramps Up...or travels upwards at an incline. Essentially, as things become more challenging for Lung or more dangerous around him, all his powers increase upwards...as well as his size. Normally, this happens at a slow rate, and is also one of the reasons he doesn’t wear a shirt (busting out of clothes) and fights outdoors (doors).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment I copied that power, and it settled into my core, three things happened:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, Lung’s powers realized that I was a bigger threat than he’d thought, and he exploded up to at least ten feet tall and a good deal wider. With his arm stuck in what was apparently a load-bearing wall with a lot of electrical wiring in it, he smashed a lot of brick and metal while also getting electrocuted. The warehouse started to collapse partially over top of him, and he was blasting fire everywhere while roaring up a storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Second, I felt myself starting to grow. Since I no longer had the Brute power or Fire power, I was just getting taller and thicker, which in my mind meant I was a bigger target for the guy who actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> shoot fire. The guy who actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> shooting fire at the moment. I started actively suppressing the power, pushing with my mind so that I didn’t burst out of my clothes, and that took all my concentration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Third, with all my concentration elsewhere, I was taken entirely by surprise when several bullets ripped through me. I went down hard, both hands around my perforated gut. I at least managed to land on my back, and looked up to see another random ABB thug standing over me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gun was leveled at my head, though I had trouble seeing it with the tears in my eyes and pain so bad I thought I was going to black out. Even Ramped Up, those bullets had gone deep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could pull the trigger, though, I was saved by the most unlikely savior: Gun Guy?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He probably wants to shoot me himself. Look at him, arguing over the right to cap me for Lung.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The thug shot me again, in the shoulder this time, and if I wasn’t feeling it before I definitely was now. The Ramping Up had made me a little bigger and thicker, but without the Brute part I was still just a human with human flesh. Luckily, the pain was keeping me awake, but I could feel warm blood starting to pool under me. It felt so warm…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait! Warm! I need the Healing power back! Where’s Lung?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I could just barely see Lung from where I was on the ground, and tried to focus through blurring vision on seeing his fires...but everything was getting hazy…I reached for it...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The argument beside me reached a crescendo, and then Gun Guy pointed his weapon at the other gunman and growled something that made him run off. That settled, he turned to face me and I felt the healing start to flow through me, like a sauna, but going so slowly...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are ya doin’ kid?” He shouted, waving his empty hand at me, staring at my blood as it pooled around us both. I tried looking at him, but my attention was drawn to the flaming box behind him. It had started to make popping noises. “Hey, look at me, dumbass! Wake up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why’s the box popping? Wait...oh, that’s it! Wonder if I should tell Gun Guy? Nah.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuggedaboutit,” Gun Guy muttered, reloading his gun. “I didn’t want it ta end dis way, but I guess I’m gonna end up shootin’ ya after all. Was hoping to just leg ya’ earlier, but now...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey.” I gasped out, having finally understood what the symbols on the boxes indicated. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He thinks he’s gonna kill me, with some cool line, but I’ll get the last laugh. How did it go again?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Omae wa mō shinde iru.” I spat out some blood, and curled up into a ball as best I could (not easy when your abdominal muscles are swiss cheese). The boxes popped. “Fucker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Omae…wait, ‘you are already dead?’ Da hell?” Gun Guy paused, then stepped back and leveled his gun at me with a scream. “</span>
  <b>NOW YOU ACTUALLY SPEAK JAPANE-</b>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They should really replace the symbol for “gas under pressure.” It looks like a wine bottle.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The box exploded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a big explosion, but it was enough to knock Gun Guy off his feet and through the air, to smash into a few boxes full of ball-bearings and nails. The explosion also pushed me several feet, and I scraped along the pavement uncontrollably as heat washed over me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I crawled to my feet, a hand over my stomach since I could almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> my guts all trying to fall out of me. There was still the warm healing feeling in me, but it was barely doing anything. I was healing too slowly. I think the bullets had done too much damage. I felt like I was dying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gun Guy stayed down, but I could see he was breathing. His arm had taken the brunt of the explosion, and looked...horrible. Still, I had a raging dragon in front of me, burning boxes covered in explosive symbols around me, and what felt like a dozen bullets in my guts and shoulder. So maybe I would focus on myself for a bit and not the guy who had killed me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Killed? No, no get ahold of yourself Greg. Think this through. Can I speed up the healing?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Two helpings of Healing power hadn’t done anything before, one had just fizzled out. Maybe if I had taken a healing power from someone else, they might have combined, but my options were limited to Lung right now. If there was some way to get two powers at once, then maybe I could mix them and put them into my core? I shifted, using one hand to hold my guts and the other to-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, that’s it! Two hands. I have two mental hands that I use to grab powers!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>All this time I’d been reaching out mentally with </span>
  <em>
    <span>two hands</span>
  </em>
  <span> and grabbing </span>
  <em>
    <span>one power</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Obviously my powers wouldn’t have given me two hands if I was only meant to have one power, right? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What better way to speed up my healing powers than with a second power that got stronger as I was in more danger?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Struggling to concentrate through the pain, I imagined those same mental hands as I had before. Then I reached out with both of them, touching his Healing </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the Ramping Up pow-</span>
</p><p>
  <b>PAIN</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt like my hands were </span>
  <em>
    <span>burning</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like my whole body was on </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I nearly bit my tongue in half as I clenched my jaw. Something exploded nearby, and I heard more metal shattering as the world spun around me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was back on the ground, and I swear I felt my body actually start to </span>
  <em>
    <span>un</span>
  </em>
  <span>heal for a moment as my body spasmed. It felt like my brain was burning, but the feeling soon faded and I was back to just horrible bullet wounds in my gut being my main concern. Well, that and my tongue, but the Healing power had finally started to spin up and deal with that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lay there for a moment as it traveled back to my stomach, letting myself heal as I heard the sound of sirens and more clattering metal. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, maybe not ready for that one yet. I’ll have to try this again some other time. I need to go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I carefully stood, keeping a hand on my partially-spilled guts, and saw that Lung had collapsed even more of the warehouse on himself. That was probably from another sudden growth burst...when I’d briefly touched both of his powers and become even more dangerous. As far as I knew, he only started decreasing in size when all his enemies were dead or running away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite his size, he was now mostly buried, and looked like someone’s pet gecko (if they came in silver and breathed fire) who had been playing in a kid’s Lincoln Log house and collapsed it. He was trapped, and despite my very obvious need to escape I could feel Confrontational Bravery telling me that I could take a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> bit more time to experiment.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On the other hand, that’s already more than three strikes. I really need to get going...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The universe must have agreed with me, because at that moment another box exploded and threw me through the air. To my credit, I only rolled once before coming to my feet. I even still had a hand on my gut! Aside from something wet on the side of my head, I was fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh wait, that’s not just something wet. That’s on fire. Well. Nope, I’m done.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I ran in an alley, screaming and slapping at my head with one hand (as the other continued to hold my stomach). I felt intense heat seemingly burning my brain...but soon the only heat up there was from the Healing power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, my hoodie now had a big hole in the back and side, but I’d been meaning to get a haircut soon anyway. Besides, that “shaved on one side” thing was totally in now, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With both hands now holding my guts in as fire burned in my stomach, I fled the scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So was my first supervillain fight a victory? A loss? Eh, we’ll call it a draw.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need to go to a hospital. I don’t want to, but I don’t think I have a choice. This feels bad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, I knew a lot about first aid, and was quite skilled at handling my own injuries, but this seemed a bit out of my league. I knew CPR, first aid, and could do cool stuff like make a splint or stretcher from household items. When I had come home after my “exploding teleport,” that was the reason I’d been able to calmly and carefully take care of my own wounds with ease. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My powers were why I dreaded going to Brockton Bay’s Hospital. Not only because I was going to have to admit that I’d been wrong about a lot of things, mind you. Mainly, it was because now I had to try and figure out how a parahuman dressed up like a member of the ABB could get help from the same people that they usually terrorized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smart thing to do would have been to just shuck off my clothes and grab a coat from a dumpster, but despite what movies had led me to believe there aren’t just coats all over the place in alleys. Besides, even if I had found a coat, I’m not sure I could have put it on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was afraid to move my hands. I’d been running for several minutes, and even though the pain had faded and I no longer felt like my innards were about to leak out of my stomach, I was kind of afraid to let go. Until you’ve actually held your kidneys and intestines in your own hands, feeling the organs with your fingers as you run from a dragon, you can’t really understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d been feeling a stinging sensation around my stomach for a while now. There was a faint warmth there as well, every few seconds, that I imagined was the Healing power fixing that damage. The scary part was that if the power faded or something then I’d be dead in no time. I’d need to have them remove the bullets that appeared to have healed inside of me...and escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I hope there’s not a long line in front of me from all the people hurt in that fire…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...that I technically helped cause. Oof. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, there was a small line ahead of me, but none of them really seemed to be that bad off. I think the worst injury I saw was a man with a nail driven through his hand, and he seemed to find me far more interesting than I found him. I mean, before he and the entire waiting room cleared out in a quiet but orderly panic. Too bad, because one of them (a redheaded man) had a haze around him like a parahuman...but was gone before I saw his power.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Which leaves me alone with the calmest nurse ever. Is she on something, or just jaded?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, I’d just rushed in covered in blood, burned clothes, holding both hands over my stomach, and demanded to see a doctor...and she’d tried to hand me a clipboard. When I shook my head and started repeating myself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>she talked over me</span>
  </em>
  <span> and told me to take a seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s try this again,” I said, as slowly as I could. The nurse stared at me, tapping her fingers on her phone as she barely paid attention to me. “I was shot, blown up, set on fire, and currently have bullets inside of me tearing my innards up. I need a doctor to remove them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I doubt that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” I shouted, then took a breath. She didn’t bat an eye. “Sorry. What part do you doubt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All those injuries you were claiming to have. There’s no way could you be standing here whining like this if you had that many injuries.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not whining!” I whined, then blushed behind my bandana and shook my head. I gritted my teeth, feeling Confrontational Bravery start to overwhelm my patience. My voice started to get louder, and I was having trouble keeping myself from hitting her desk. “I’m a new parahuman with healing powers, and I think some bullets healed inside of me. I just took on Lung, I just bathed in my own blood, I survived a fireball to the head, and tanked a goddamn explosion!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you fucking deaf?” I shouted, then slammed both hands into the front desk as I repeated the key points that appeared to be going over her </span>
  <em>
    <span>damned head</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Lung! Blood! Fire! Explosion! Why are you not hearing me?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>ding</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I paused, having felt something brush against my belt. I looked down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a bullet on the floor. It was a bit misshapen, had some blood on it, but was just...there. With almost surgical precision, I lifted my shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>dingdingdingalingdingdingdingding</b>
</p><p>
  <span>A whole lot of bullets fell out of my shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked down at my stomach, smooth and unmarked, and saw a small cut close. It occurred to me that the healing had pushed the bullets out of me. Also, that the tiny bursts of healing I had been feeling had been from my own hands rubbing the sharp bullets into my skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, sorry about all that, can we start over?” I looked back up at the nurse, thinking that maybe I should apologize, and was unsurprised to see that she had vanished in the seconds I had been looking at my stomach. “Well, I guess I’ll just leave."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, put your hands behind your head and get on your knees. Do not force me to get physical.” I heard a voice from my right, and turned to see a large man in a security guard uniform about twenty feet away. He had a radio to his mouth and his other hand was on a very bulky-looking taser on his belt. Before I could try to explain, he hit the radio’s button and started speaking. “Update on Brockton Bay Hospital situation, I have ordered the ABB member to surrender.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not in the ABB!” I said hotly, almost reaching up for my mask before realizing that unmasking (so to speak) would be a very bad idea. His hand closed around his taser, but he didn’t draw it on me. Still, despite my words, he kept right on talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Claims not to be ABB, but this was after screaming about blood, fire, Lung, and explosions.” I heard what sounded like the screech of tires on asphalt, and realized that going back out the front door was probably out of the question now. “Moving on to gang negotiation tactics.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, you really don’t need to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Attention ABB member!” The guard bellowed, despite only being twenty feet away. “You have ten seconds to get on your knees, hands up, and then lace your fingers behind your head!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you would just listen for a minute-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten seconds!” The man bellowed. “Nine, eight, seven…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“PRT Special Investigations Unit!” Both the security guard and I turned to face the front doors, his countdown stopping as two men in blue PRT jackets waltzed in. They couldn’t have been more dissimilar, but one carried a hand-held containment foam sprayer and the other had a radio he was talking into. “Everyone just calm down, and let us handle this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already have this handled, you’re not needed here.” The security guard ground out, and then turned back to face me again. “I’ve got this under control. Please clear the area.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys!” I shouted, trying to defuse the situation. The count stopped again, and I heard one of the PRT guys mutter something. “This is all unnecessary! Please just listen to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shorter of the two PRT agents held a hand up to his ear, as though trying to hear me, then groaned and turned to leave. As he stopped in the doorway, he called back to us, “Hold that thought, ABB Kid. Security Mook, keep an eye on him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a crackling noise, a very familiar one, and I could now see a familiar red uniform as well. Standing just out of my field of vision was Velocity, of the Protectorate! Sure, Velocity hadn’t been much help a few days ago, but now I wasn’t out of breath and could explain things!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve got this under control, man, bug off.” Unlike me, though, the shorter PRT guy didn’t seem very happy to see the hero. “You being here is only gonna make things worse. Go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As much as I hate to keep running away, maybe it’s time to consider running away?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hate to be called a coward, and I hate even more to keep taking the coward’s way out. But in this case? With authority figures gathering and diplomacy not working? I think I could be excused for panicking a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, escape just needed a tiny opportunity. I took a moment to consider my problems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First: Bellows. That’s what I’d been calling the Security Guard, since it seemed to be his preferred method of communication. Other details about him included his huge arms, small legs, red face, focus on my person, and incredibly over-prepared security kit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seriously, he was carrying fifty pounds of supplies. Knife vest, confoam sprayer, flashlight, zip-ties, radio, taser, backup taser, medical kit, satellite phone, and...was that a pair of bolt-cutters and a gas mask? The guy was certainly better prepared than the two PRT guys.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Second: Speaking of, the two PRT Agents standing to my right appeared to have little more than radios, tasers, and a little cylinder that looked like a handheld confoam sprayer. Both were PRT Special Investigators, they’d said, and I supposed that meant they were like Detectives for the PRT or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, I know what they really are, thanks to my love of movies...they’re a buddy cop duo!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>One was short, sloppily-dressed, and even had stains from what looked like mustard on his wrinkled suit. Despite that, he was in excellent shape and wasn’t even out of breath after holding a screaming match with someone for the past several minutes. His blond hair looked like he’d combed it with his hands, spiking up messily, and the huge grin on his face as he continued to argue only grew as he glanced at his partner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His partner, by contrast, was tall, thin as a rail, and looked...cultured? He was impeccably dressed in a pressed suit and bow tie, had brown hair and an almost orange beard that were both perfectly combed. He carried himself with excellent posture as he took notes on the encounter. While his partner was loud and loved to shout over others, this one spoke carefully, quickly, and thoughtfully. Together, they were even keeping a superhero off balance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Third: Velocity. Red-suited hero with speed, kindness, and patience that was running out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys, can we just work together on this?” The man in question sounded tired, even though a feature of his powers was supposed to be that he never got tired. Having argued until other people walked away, this was a tone I was used to hearing. “Look, I know that Kalpin loves to argue and exaggerate, but I’m really not here to try and ‘steal’ this out from under you guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That so?” Kalpin shouted, laughing incredulously. “Hobson and I spent weeks digging up info on the Undersiders and their plan to rob a jewelry store, stopping them before they got more than a few thousand dollars. Reporter comes up to us, thrusts a mic in our faces, and asks, ‘How did Velocity know this was going to happen? He was spotted a block away teaching a little girl to ride a bike, was that his cover?’ It was sickening!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That little girl thought it was pretty awesome. Her parents thought so, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ya think this is a joke?” Kalpin’s voice got louder, apparently not finding the hero very funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “No, but I have to admit I thought you were playing a prank on me, since you’re choosing right now to have this argument.” Velocity replied with a sigh, trying to lean over Kalpin and look into the Hospital. “I mean, wasn’t there some kind of ABB parahuman hostage situation here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This situation is under control, and your presence here is problematic.” Hobson held a hand out and his voice became quite earnest. “Please move along while we deal with this boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Velocity sighed, then started to leave. Lucky for me, he also stepped into my field of vision.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Lung’s powers were like campfires, I was surprised to see that Velocity’s were like...birds. Very strange for someone whose power was </span>
  <em>
    <span>running</span>
  </em>
  <span> to feel like </span>
  <em>
    <span>birds</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but who was I to question the powers I’d only had for a few days anyway? Ignoring this oddity, I realized that one of his powers seemed kind of familiar, and grabbed that one before even looking at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once it was in my core, I took a moment to look closer at them, just in case I had made a mistake. The unfamiliar one was like a hummingbird, flitting about almost as if it was floating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was able to get this sense from it, looking at it, that it was pristine and perfect, untouched by injury, gravity, friction, or even pain. It seemed so free and happy, moving around inside of the man as if it had no worries or strife. Even my eyes on it didn’t seem to trouble the bird at all, as if my presence was just something it could ignore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other one was more like a phoenix, a great majestic bird of fire...but with some other energy crackling around it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dimly recalled how, about two days ago, I’d seen Velocity and mentally compared the light inside of him to such a bird. It was faster than a blaze, quicker than lightning, and seemed almost to teleport around inside the man with how fast it moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both birds were flying around inside of Velocity, constantly flapping around each other and even through one another. The hummingbird never got scorched or even singed, while the phoenix was slowly dying...but immediately healed the moment it brushed against the hummingbird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like they were normally a package deal and I was just seeing them as parts, which annoyed me that I could apparently only take one. Maybe there was a trick to taking both at once, but now wasn’t the time to test it...especially with the </span>
  <em>
    <span>painful</span>
  </em>
  <span> memory of what happened the last time. Splitting up a team was always a recipe for disaster, but now I was locked in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Velocity blurred off, and I noticed that I had a new feeling in my brain. It kind of felt like an On/Off switch, to be honest. My mental finger felt itchy...and it was time to flip the switch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You picked the wrong hospital to try and terrorize, pal.” Bellows was talking to me, in a normal voice this time. That swiftly went away as he started to get angry at my lack of reaction. “I’ve spent years at this job, training and practicing for the day my skills would be needed! Within these walls I AM </span>
  <b>THE LAW!</b>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh hey, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Judge Dredd</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nice.” Kalpin and Hobson were now facing me, watching me carefully. They’d kicked part of it earlier, and now it was frozen open, with both blocking it. “Personally I liked the scrappy little tech guy played by Pauly Shore, but Schwarzeneggar’s character had a lot of good lines. Anyway, movies aside, Velocity backed off, so how about we talk? Let’s see if we can take care of this matter with the professional and easy-going style that we’re known for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither of those things should go together when it comes to police or investigative work, Kalpin.” Hobson interjected, still holding his notepad and pen. He cocked an eyebrow at Bellows and I, as if asking whether we were going to make this complicated. “Still, it works for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn right it does!” Kalpin grinned mightily, then started flapping a hand at Bellows. “Security Guy, you can just move along now. We’ll call you if we need a bullhorn or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellows did not like that, and started to move towards me with his taser. I expected that my Confrontational Bravery would keep me steadfast, but had forgotten that with Lung’s power gone it had vanished as well.  The amazing sense of self-assurance that had been blazing through me had guttered out like a wet candle. The need to be confrontational and never back down from foes had run off with its proverbial tail between its legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In other words, I was back to being Greg Veder, as far as emotions went. There was another unfamiliar feeling welling up in me, but I shoved all thought of that aside as the incredible need to flee began to overwhelm me. The lobby felt like it was closing in on me, and I wanted out!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blocking me from that were three men, all of whom wanted nothing more than to foam me, shout at me, or accuse me of things that I was (mostly) innocent of. Desperate, I sought to figuratively take a step back and reassess things, but made three huge mistakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, I actually stepped backwards. This was a mistake because it made Bellows fire his taser and make me panic </span>
  <em>
    <span>even more</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Second, I activated the power I’d gotten from Velocity, making the world seem to be slowing down around me. The power was only activated for a relative second or two, but in that time I felt myself moving backwards and the darts from Bellows’ taser moving at a crawl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Third, I tripped. Yeah, not the best thing to do when you have a speed power. On the plus side, I immediately deactivated the power as soon as I noticed it was on, but by then...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, by then I had noticed that I was on my back, sliding across a very clean floor, and about forty feet away Bellows. The blurring and sliding was familiar, and it occurred to me that this was what had happened to me back on Friday night! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had copied Velocity’s power, and then since I was already running my ass off when I activated it I’d traveled three blocks in a few seconds. I’d tripped upon getting to the park and fallen in the wet grass, sliding for sixty or so feet on my back until my momentum had bled off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No wonder I’d been thinking that it was teleportation! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mystery solved!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, I hadn’t quite figured out what was injuring me, since much like last time I immediately noticed that my butt and shoulders were sore. It felt like I’d slammed into the ground more than once, or harder than just the three foot fall. Even the material on the back of my jeans and sweatshirt felt kind of worn down. Odd...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily for me, my three opponents were too busy arguing to care that I had just vanished, or stop me from ruminating on the odd new power and how it worked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell is wrong with you?” Kalpin yelled at Bellows, having charged up to the larger man and knocked the taser out of his hand. “You can’t just go shooting that at a kid, much less one who’s scared out of his damned mind!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! If you and your skinny flunky hadn’t been trying to swing your dicks around, I wouldn’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh trust me, pal, if I wanted to swing my dick around-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps we can talk about our dicks some other time?” Hobson’s quiet tone somehow grabbed the attention of both men, and they both looked at him as he pointed at me. “I think our parahuman might be trying to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I burst through the swinging double doors, I heard Hobson shout for the other two to go around and cut me off. I heard a clicking noise behind me and glanced back to see the man pause to lock the double doors behind him. He didn’t appear to be in a rush.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Great, now I’m even more trapped than before. Hospitals...nothing but trouble.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>**************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg learns that not all problems can be solved by running, and then immediately helps solve a problem by...running.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Yeah, so...apparently the Hazard symbol for Explosion looks like an explosion, Flammable looks like a fire, and Gas Cylinders or Under Pressure look like...a wine bottle (to me, and to Greg). For all the setup, the payoff was totally worth it. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.</p><p>Edits 12Sept2020: Made Greg a little quicker on the uptake, as well as improving the overall flow of his power-testing and reasoning for staying. Finally, balanced out the hospital scene to end on a stronger cliffhanger, since the Velocity/Kalpin/Hobson part really dragged before.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. 1.9: Understanding the Law</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It seems like I spend all my time these days running away from things. When you get right down to it, the reason I’ve been running away this whole time is that I have no idea what I’m doing. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I just keep throwing things at the wall, hoping one of them sticks and taking every tiny victory as a sign that what I’m doing is right. That the ends will somehow justify the means, even if every failure should be telling me that I need to stop running and deal with my problems. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>More than anything, they should be telling me that I need to step back and start examining what I’m doing wrong. When you get a bad result in a video game, you learn </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> to jump in spiked pits anymore or that the best way to handle a fireball is to </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>dodge</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> it. Also, to run from dragons.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When I got powers I didn’t stop running...but eventually I started running in the right direction.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Instead of just doing it to escape, though, I was running towards problems, to help solve them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I ducked under an odd metal bar hanging from the ceiling, having reached a T-intersection at the end of the short hall, and the feeling of being trapped grew as the door in front of me refused to open. The smell of sawdust was around me, this part of the hospital apparently under construction, dim lighting and unpainted walls only driving the point home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To my left was a long hallway with all the doors closed and a big EXIT sign at the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To my right was a...long hallway with all the doors closed and a big EXIT sign at the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What a choice, eh? Looking behind me I could see Hobson approaching, one hand on his holstered weapon and the other holding his radio, speaking quietly into it. He wasn’t running, but rather was stalking slowly...like some sort of big jungle cat. Maybe a tiger?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were ostensibly two people coming to cut me off and Hobson was preventing me from going back the way I’d come. Worse, he was probably going to tell them which way I went, so for all I knew they could already be in place to foam or clothesline me the moment I ran by. It was like dealing with...I dunno, Schrodinger's Clothesline. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wanted to go right, but knew that with Hobson watching I’d have to throw him off. So, after jogging to the left for about ten feet I stopped suddenly and leaped backwards, sliding on my back. Just as I hit the ground, I engaged Velocity’s power again for a few seconds. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world blurred…and then I was against a wall. Hobson rounded the corner a good thirty feet away, going left, and scrambled to my feet as I tried the knob of the door behind me. Locked!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My back was also sore, though not as much as before. Looking down, I saw that on the floor between Hobson and I was a long red smear. It looked like all the blood that had been soaked into my sweatshirt (and some of the red dye) had been worn off. I was starting to figure out what was going on here, and decided to test it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, I aimed for the EXIT door far behind me, and engaged the power. It made my feet hurt a little and I nearly went face-first into the wall, but I managed to mostly keep my balance. I looked back at Hobson, smiled under my bandanna, and triumphantly pushed the door-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t open. Pushing, pulling, neither worked...and after a moment I heard Bellows shout from the other side, sounding breathless. “Ha! You’re not getting out that easily, terrorist. I already got the other door, now you’re trapped. Time to face Justice!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turned around in a rush, figuring that he must have been bluffing, but was disheartened to see that Kalpin had joined us in the hallway. The short man was favoring one hand, his shoes making a crunching noise that suggested he’d broken a window and come out of one of the doors. Unfortunately, they were all closed again, so I wasn’t sure which it had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fine, I can do this. Time to put this power to the test, find that door, and get out of here!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I reached for the mental switch in my head, held out both hands to find my balance, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>moved</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Hopefully I could find an escape route before my clothes wore out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several minutes later, I was still trapped in the hallway. On the plus side, I was still both clothed and alive, and even after Bellows had joined the chase I’d still managed to remain free. Even better, my opponents were practically dead on their feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, I guess I should say </span>
  <em>
    <span>opponent</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The moment Bellows had shown up, Hobson and Kalpin had taken refuge in the part of the T-intersection leading back towards the front desk. They grabbed at me any time I came near, but otherwise just ignored me. Hobson bandaged his partner’s hand, and Kalpin watched with a grin as Bellows yelled, dove, and sprinted after me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The floor was smooth enough that when I lost my balance it just meant I’d slide for twenty feet, rather than scraping off my skin like pavement would have caused. I’d even started to notice that my sense of balance was quickly becoming so good that I hadn’t fallen in ten attempts...and that the last time I’d fallen it actually hadn’t hurt at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was pretty sure that Velocity’s second power (the hummingbird) had been one that let him work around the friction that had been destroying my clothes, as well as giving him senses that could handle the sudden shifts in speed. I had started to acclimate to it enough that things only blurred when I ran for more than a few seconds, and even that was fading. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I hadn’t been trying to escape arrest, I would have loved to experiment more, but I definitely recalled how the healing power had sped up the longer I’d had it. After I’d dropped it and picked it back up, it had needed to heal a few wounds before I could get back up to full speed, so there was probably a “breaking in” period. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Best of all, I had found the door Kalpin had come in through, so it was time for me to go, especially since I saw that Kalpin and Hobson were ambling in my direction. Bellows, nearly exhausted and so red in the face I was surprised he hadn’t passed out, had collapsed at the intersection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smiled, aimed myself at the little space between the two of them, all ready to get the hell out of here and move on with my life. I took a deep breath, reached for the power, and then…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as every fiber in my body screamed at me to run, I stood there.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This isn’t the sort of person I want to be. This isn’t the sort of hero I want to be.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I turned to face Kalpin and Hobson.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to keep running away from my problems. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to be afraid to do what’s right just because it’s too hard. I have to take responsibility.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I raised both hands, and said, “I surrender.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I ever want to be a hero, I can’t run from confrontation. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry about creating a panic. I know I shouldn’t have come here, or run away like this, or tried to escape.” Both PRT agents paused, and I thought I heard Bellows scoff. Kalpin and Hobson didn’t laugh, though. They looked at me, silently, so I kept going. “It’s just...I got in over my head, was afraid you were going to arrest me, and then just kind of made it up as I went along. I...screwed up, and made a lot of people mad, and I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, it takes a lot of courage to admit when you’re wrong. They both shared a glance, and Hobson smiled. “Please, tell us what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt such a relief that my legs almost went out from under me, and I had to lean on a wall to stay upright. Sure, it was possible that they were just playing me, but I was grasping for a lifeline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, for one thing, I’m not really ABB. Heck, I’m not even Asian!” I said, then paused and added, “Not even the kind of Asian where I’m from the continent of Asia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh we know.” Hobson nodded, flooring me. The man began to speak, then cut himself off as Kalpin elbowed him in the gut. The smaller man took this opening to grin at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve got a big hole in the side of your hoodie, and we can see your pale skin and blonde hair. Also, your pants are starting to tear and we can see your skinny white legs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ahem.” Hobson cleared his throat, and I got the feeling that the two of them did this a lot. “Indeed. So, just why were you pretending to be an ABB member?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to help the police and PRT, and knew about a warehouse the ABB kept going to. So I put on a disguise, grabbed a camera, and...went to gather intelligence. It was a Tinker workshop they were going to use to recruit Bakuda, according to a conversation I...heard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Hobson looked interested. “We weren’t aware that Lung was recruiting her yet. Turning the location over to us would be helpful, as such hideouts can be hard to find.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, about that.” I blushed a bit, then quickly told them the rest all in one go. “I kind tricked Lung into throwing some fireballs at explosive crates, he blew up the warehouse, and then Ramped up and brought the whole thing down on himself. It’s...not really that hard to find right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh, look at you, not even a hero yet and already shutting down ABB operations!” Kalpin elbowed me, and I realized that throughout the conversation the two of them had been walking alongside me. We were now back at the T-intersection, Bellows watching us warily from under that odd ceiling bar, and for some reason...I wasn’t that worried anymore. “We’ll have to team up with you sometime, kid. Maybe you’ll be a better coworker than that glory-hog, Velocity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was with that, anyway?” I asked, then realized I might have been stepping in something that wasn’t my business. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Protectorate involvement tends to escalate things, as well as causing certain...requirements to come into play.” Hobson explained, sounding like it was a very...delicate matter. “If we had allowed Velocity to join the negotiations, then it would have brought additional scrutiny on you and likely required us to bring you in even if this was the misunderstanding our preliminary research indicated it to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What he’s trying to say,” Kalpin cut in, “Is that we suspected that the ABB parahuman who had been seen fighting Lung, running through the streets in this direction, and then entering this hospital were all the same guy. If that were the case, then Velocity getting involved would mean that we’d have to take you in for questioning no matter what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.” Hobson nodded, “We preferred to deal with it using words and simple negotiation tactics, but Velocity would have upgraded the threat level considerably. Also, by doing this our way we no longer need to do anything other than warn and inform you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so you’re not going to arrest me?” I blanched, waving my hands in front of me and backing up to the wall. “I mean, not that I want you to. It’s just…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, we understand your reluctance and confusion.” Hobson approached, leaning against the wall beside me and crossing his arms. He lowered his gaze, looking thoughtfully at the floor. “You did cause quite a commotion, and on top of that several people had to be evacuated from the hospital. There was also the fire you were a part of and city property that was destroyed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hobson’s words didn’t make me any less worried, but then Kalpin leaned against the wall next to his partner and let out a laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but at the same time a lot of that commotion was from people like the big security mook over there, overreacting. All the people evacuated got treatment, and nobody died. Most of the hospital is still running fine, since we’ve been in a half-finished wing. Finally, Lung caused the fire, and the city practically has Lung insurance at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Most of your information just confirms what we know, and trying to throw the book at you would only damage your newly-formed relationship with the PRT." Hobson grinned at Kalpin, then looked sternly at me. "Instead, we prefer to foster positive relationships with new parahumans and informants, teaching them the right way to go about their business. We give you some leeway now, but make sure you know that we expect your best from here on out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We prefer to call it," Kalpin held up his hands, as though holding a banner, "Easy-going professionalism. Better informants, better parahumans, better investigations."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In other words, we’re going to let you off with a warning.” Hobson held out a business card, which I took. “But we want you to learn from this. Any parahuman can just run around town shooting powers and beating people up, but this? Talking to the authorities and admitting when you might be wrong? That takes real strength. You did the right thing, in the end. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also, burn that costume as soon as you get home.” Kalpin added. He was grinning again, and I found it hard not to join him. “I’d also suggest talking to your parents about the other stuff. You’ve got a future as a hero, kid...but only if you have support and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three of us looked up, and saw Bellows on his feet. The man was pointing a large revolver at us, and with his other hand he grabbed a metal bar sticking out of the ceiling and pulled. With a screech, a security gate slid out of the ceiling and crashed to the floor between us and him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, maybe I can just explain myself to him as well? I mean, it’s worth a shot, right? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen, I’m really-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stopped talking the moment he fired his gun at the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut. Up!” Bellows screamed, waving the gun at all of us. “You think I didn’t just hear you talk to them, and suddenly they’re your buddies? I’ve read about this online, you must have Mastered them or something!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or maybe he’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Silence!” Bellows fired again, a bullet hitting the floor just a few inches from Hobson’s foot. The tall man wisely decided to stop talking. “No more stupid explanations!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt a sudden pressure, and noticed that Hobson and Kalpin had stepped in front of me. They were...protecting me?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s obvious that you’ve both been compromised, and that my own mental training protected me from the effects of his powers.” Bellows began to rant, swinging the gun to point at each of us in turn. “Weak-minded fools like you can’t stand up to that sort of pressure, but I’m made of steel!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So.” Kalpin whispered, looking over his shoulder at me. “About that team up I mentioned before...is now a good time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded silently, and the shorter man turned back to face Bellows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, and I’ve locked both emergency exits!” Bellows bragged, smiling as Kalpin’s jaw dropped. “Impressed, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s really impressive…” Kalpin started, trailing off before frowning at the now-preening security guard. “...ly stupid. Did you seriously just admit to locking emergency exits in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>hospital</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Do you know how dangerous that is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, what if there’s a fire and we need to escape?” Hobson butted in, looking aghast at the gun-toting security guard. Bellows was starting to turn red, and I doubted it was from just one emotion. “There’s a long list of security procedures and emergency-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellows fired his revolver again, this time into the ceiling above him. I really hoped he didn’t hit someone on the second floor. Drywall drifted down, and everyone was silent as the ringing in our ears faded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, we’re going to handle this professionally.” Bellows said, in a tone of voice that brooked no disagreement. “Any questions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I got one.” Kalpin ignored as Hobson elbowed him, and continued glaring at Bellows as he asked, “Have you honestly thought this through? You’re pointing a gun at two PRT Special Investigators, as well as a minor, but there’s still time for you to end things peacefully. Just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Silence!” Bellows shouted, slamming his revolver into the cage gate and shutting the short man up. He took a breath, schooled his features, and then explained, “If it weren’t for the fact that you two were obviously Mastered, I’d have to assume that you second-rate PRT agents are actually dirty...and then I’d have no reason to be so nice to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is nice?” Kalpin muttered, then shook his head and tried again. “Fine, if you think that we’ve been Mastered, just call the PRT and ask for a Master/Stranger test.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed, the system is updated daily, and someone will gladly help you run us through it. I can give you the phone number.” Hobson piped up, spreading his hands slowly and practically exuding calm helpfulness. For a moment, I thought that this might work out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t trust any phone number you can give me.” Bellows shook his head, eyes looking around as if he thought he was being watched. “For all I know, you set that phone number up weeks ago, or your Master did, and they’ll just give you answers you already know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s-” Kalpin cut himself off, probably about to have said </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Instead, he tried a calmer tactic. “That’s how Master/Stranger protocols work. We memorized the codes this morning, and they’ll call and quiz us on them. That’s how it’s supposed to go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” Bellows grinned, as if this was a puzzle he’d solved long ago and we were just now getting. “You already know the fake answers, so I’m going to give you my own Master/Stranger protocols. I made them myself, years ago, and have been waiting for just such a chance to test them on other people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This seems incredibly familiar for some reason. What’s wrong with this picture?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>This whole time I had been pretending that Bellows was just an unbalanced security guard and had lumped him in with all the faceless bad guys and supervillains that he was now...admittedly a lot like. He had become the bad guy. He was opposing the good guys, after all. Right?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But it’s not that simple, is it? He thinks he’s in the right. He thinks...that he’s the hero?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellows had put years of tireless effort into making himself the protector of this hospital, the last bastion of safety against the horrors and terrors that existed outside its walls. He had been so proud and on-point, dealing with what certainly seemed to be what he’d trained for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...then Kalpin and Hobson had dismissed and insulted him. I had run away. They had made a deal with me and let me off the hook. His world must have come crashing down, and now he was flailing around trying to fix it. He was digging himself deeper and deeper, no end in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dang, Bellows is a lot like me. Is that what I’m going to become if I don’t shape up?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, let’s start with simple word association.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great.” Kalpin muttered. “Because asking people questions under duress always works.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know!” Bellows chirped, smiling widely. “I’ve taken every class and training course I could on psychological tactics and parahuman mental combat, as well as gotten certifications online in interrogation, cross-examination, grilling, questioning, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do realize that those are all just synonyms, don’t you?” Hobson cut Bellows off, then gave what seemed like a kind smile. “I really would like to know the names of all these online universities, so we can investigate them for what appears to be fraud, grifting, flimflam, swindling, duplicity, shenanigans-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough!” Bellows fired his gun again, this time twice into the wall a few feet to our left. He motioned with the gun at Kalpin and the man raised both hands. “Step forward, little man. You other two will stay </span>
  <em>
    <span>silent</span>
  </em>
  <span> while I question him. Now, I’m going to say a word, and you say the first word that comes to mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kalpin sighed and stepped forwards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While his partner was being grilled, Hobson leaned back a bit and reached up as if to scratch at his face. As he did so, I realized the man was speaking into the hole in my hoodie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While Kalpin is distracting him, we need a plan.” He whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here’s a plan,” I whispered back. “Stop pissing him off before he shoots us for real!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My preliminary psychological profile of him is that he is panicking because he thinks we’ve been compromised, and is trying to intimidate us. He wants recognition and respect, not a body count.” Hobson whispered back. “I believe he is purposefully missing us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe…” I had forgotten how observant the man was, but it still seemed like a lot to take on faith that they wouldn’t push him too far and get him to overcome his no-killing fears. “He still might shoot us though, so maybe cut that out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will soon. His Smith &amp; Wesson Model 686 had 6 rounds loaded, and he’s been careful to keep his finger off the trigger except when firing...at non-human targets.” Hobson went quiet, noting that Bellows’ eyes had swept over us. He waited until Kalpin started speaking loudly to continue. “Two bullets left, and then he’ll have to dig in his bag for the speedloader I saw earlier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so what...we make him run out of bullets and then run?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed.” Hobson had noticed that Kalpin was messing with Bellows again, and the man looked like he was about to shoot again. “We’ll go left, you go right, and he’ll be forced to lift the cage to get at us if we go far enough down the hall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we all go right?” I hissed back, seeing Bellows lifting his gun. The man’s face was turning purple, and Kalpin actually seemed to be...making faces at him? “I have a way out of here, we can-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then take it.” Hobson cut me off. “You barely understand your powers, and we can’t let you put yourself in harm’s way for us. We’ll handle him. You need to go, call for help, and then run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t have time to argue further, because Bellows fired again at the cerling, twice. He tried to fire a third time, but the gun clicked empty and Hobson had already pushed me down the hall. I saw him grab Kalpin, and then I took off with a burst of Velocity’s speed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Idiots! I had a way we could all have escaped! Kalpin even knew about it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Down the hall, nestled among the locked doors, was one that was slightly ajar. Kalpin had busted it open earlier. I burst inside, ignoring the construction equipment and plaster piled around, and leapt through the window Kalpin had shattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hit the ground on the other side and rolled to my feet. Looking around, there was no sign of the other two. I waited a few seconds, thinking that they’d pop up any moment...or maybe yell that it was all clear. They’d be okay, right? They were trained PRT Agents, and Bellows was just a-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I heard a gunshot. Bellows must have had a backup gun.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to get out of here. I have to call for help, like I promised I would.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt Velocity’s power singing inside of me, and all I could think about was how sweet the outdoors were and how terrible being inside had been. It would have been so easy to run...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No....I can’t just let them die. Not after all they did for me. I won’t leave them!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I turned and ran with all the speed Velocity’s power gave me back through the front doors, not even paying attention to the phone in the front lobby. I pushed against the locked doors, having forgotten Hobson had locked them. Each had a window set in it, and I could see Bellows facing down both PRT agents. Kalpin was on the ground holding his shoulder and Hobson was talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It appeared as though Bellows was reloading, and now I could see what had gone wrong. The man had a tiny pistol on the ground, and it looked like he’d drawn the hold-out weapon from his ankle holster and fired at the fleeing Kalpin. It was something he must have practiced hundreds of times to get right.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, why can’t this guy be on our side? It’s like he prepared for everything.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Further thoughts were cut off as I saw Bellows finish his reload and point the revolver at the PRT agents. He seemed like he was monologuing again, and I wasn’t going to just stand here and watch him kill them. I had to find some way to stop him, but the doors were locked up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, I couldn’t just stand there and watch. Not when they had been so lenient with me. Not when they’d given me such good advice. Not when I could do something about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And damn sure not when this is my first team up!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I activated Velocity’s speed and shot backwards, only stopping when my back hit the wall behind me. I barely felt it, and stepped forwards as drywall and dust fell around me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Calling for help takes too long. Waiting will get someone killed. I have to get in there!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With barely a thought for how much this was going to hurt, I blasted forwards, giving it all I had to reach top speed. My shoes seemed to explode off my feet, my sunglasses cracked and filled the inside of my wrecked hoodie, and the double doors got closer and closer and-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>WHAM</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I slammed into one of the doors, shoulder first, the glass set into it cracked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to back up and try again, ignoring the way I hadn’t even felt the impact, rushing backwards until I got more drywall on my back and then rushing forwards again. This time, I heard a hollow thud as my shoulder slammed into the door, and the glass shattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I reached in for the lock, turning it with fingers that felt...strange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, kid! You can stop now! We’re okay!” I paused, and opened the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That...sounded like Kalpin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Confused, I saw Kalpin waving at me with his good arm. He was standing next to what appeared to be an unconscious Bellows, the man’s hands covered in what looked like cotton candy. Hobson was shaking a canister and frowning as it began to sputter. “He’s under wraps, you might say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I prefer to say that he’s contained.” Hobson cut in, tossing aside the now-empty handheld can of containment foam. “After you started making that racket, he turned in your direction and Kalpin was able to grab his legs through the cage gate. He fell onto his face, and I was able to lift the gate and take care of him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the important thing is that the situation is under control. I was really worried about you guys.” I pushed the now-unlocked doors open and walked through, ignoring the clicking sound as I stepped on what I guessed was the broken glass I had caused. None of it was piercing my shoes though, so I was probably…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. Shoes. Didn’t my shoes come off? Also, what’s that clicking noise?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey kid, what the hell happened to your feet?” Kalpin asked, as I slowly walked towards them, lost in thought. I slowly looked down, as he added, “Your eyes, too? You some kinda Case 53?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kalpin!” Hobson poked his partner in the shoulder again, this time harder. “That’s incredibly insensitive! This after you already got chewed out for calling that new ice-based Brute in Alaska a ‘Snow Goon,’ and now-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tuned them out, looking down at my foot and rolling up my pant leg a bit. I had noticed that my legs and arms had been feeling stiff, and it had been a surprise when my frequent impacts with walls and doors had barely fazed me. Now though, I could see why.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh my god. What the hell did I do to myself? What am I? Is this...permanent?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My knee looked like it was covered in a sort of chitin, and my foot appeared to have some sort of strange bone-like growths on my soles and ankles, as well as between my toes. Reaching up and feeling at my shoulders and elbows, I could feel that they had something similar there. That explained why I hadn’t felt the impacts before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even my fingers felt strange, and if I hadn’t been wearing gloves…my gloves felt so tight...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t make a fist anymore. My knuckles and wrists aren’t bending as well as before.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, what did he say about my eyes? What’s wrong with my eyes?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should get going.” I said listlessly, giving a fake smile to the two of them, not even realizing until I was walking away that my bandanna meant they could see it. I heard them shout behind me, but I didn’t care.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just had to get out of there. I had to move. I was afraid to find a mirror and look at my </span>
  <em>
    <span>eyes</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It might have been some kind of bleedover from Velocity’s personality, but the moment I stepped outside I felt a little calmer. When I started to jog, the feeling got even better. Then I engaged the Speed power, and suddenly I felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>great!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I just took a deep breath, ignored the sound of clicking bones beneath me, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ran.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was still worried, don’t get me wrong. But being out here, free to move as I pleased and no longer trapped by the laws and walls, it filled me with a kind of pleasure that was hard to describe. The body stuff should really have freaked me out more, but now that I was outside and free I just felt so...</span>
  <em>
    <span>liberated</span>
  </em>
  <span>! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took a deep breath, and almost laughed when I realized that my lungs felt great! My heart was beating like a drum, but now that seemed perfectly normal. Even my arms were swinging back and forth like an Olympic runner’s, my elbows and shoulders feeling a bit stiff but otherwise fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll bet this is just an aspect of my power I hadn’t known about. Maybe it adapts somehow?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like with the healing that had slowly sped up and pyrokinesis that had burned me less over time, my body must have been adapting slowly somehow to the powers I copied...but it had never gone this far before! I wasn’t even worried about whether this was permanent or not, and slowly began to speed up more and more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I knew it, I was passing cars on the road, waving at bicyclists that seemed to be standing still, and considering whether or not I could </span>
  <em>
    <span>run across water!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This...is...awesome! Why the hell was I even staying in Brockton Bay? Why ever stop running?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I could travel the world, see the sights, go anywhere and do anything. With this kind of power I could go anywhere, do anything, be any-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I barely heard some church bells ringing in the distance, like an alarm clock for my soul.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh crap. Oh crapcrapcrapcrap! My parents! They’ll be home from church any minute! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I slowed down for a moment, looked around, and then took off towards home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I made it home and was almost leaping for joy when I saw that my parents’ car wasn’t in the driveway. I did a little dance of joy, then froze as I heard the clicking sound of my bone-growths on the sidewalk. I quickly looked around, but saw that none of the neighbors were out and about. I slipped around the house into the backyard, then stepped into the shed out back for good measure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had to do something about this...couldn’t explain it away with another “makeup disaster” excuse. Unfortunately, standing still didn’t seem to be making the bone-growths fade away, and I was starting to panic about this being permanent. Being in the shed wasn’t helping either, and I was starting to feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>trapped</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When I had dropped Lung’s Ramping Up power, my grown body shrank back down. Maybe...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Praying that this worked, and seeing no other solution, I sighed and reached into my </span>
  <em>
    <span>core</span>
  </em>
  <span> for the Phoenix...and then released it. It slowly dissipated, and in moments I could tell that the strange On/Off switch that had given me the ability to speed up was well and truly gone. I suddenly felt very, very slow...like I was almost paralyzed, and was having trouble breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just the power wearing off, Greg. Stay calm.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I managed to get the feeling in my body back after a few seconds, leaning against the wall. Despite that, the moment the power had vanished I had started experiencing shortness of breath, blurry vision, and pain in my chest. All my joints hurt, all my bones felt like they were too small for my body, and then...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I began to itch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stepped out of the dark shed, lacking enough light to see what the hell was going on and hoping that the shed hadn’t been infested with ants again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, it was something far better than ants...the bone-growths were flaking off like the nastiest dead skin chunks you can imagine. I began to scratch at them, big gobs of now-pliable gunky flesh-colored stuff flaking off of my knees, elbows, feet, shoulders. I even pulled my gloves off, the same gunky goo almost pouring out of them and sloughing off my fingers and wrists. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Whew. Not permanent after all. Thank goodness. Mom would have killed me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as I was about to pat myself on the back for the quick thinking, I felt like something had hit me in the stomach, and bent over to vomit white and red goo. The shortness of breath I was experiencing after horking up my guts told me that my increased lung capacity and stronger heart were probably as gone as the bone-growths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even my eyes were getting in on the act, and I rubbed them as more gunk flowed out. I must have developed some sort of protection against high-velocity wind, or maybe extra rods and cones for faster reaction times? I guess I should have been glad that my brain wasn’t leaking something out my ears, but I was just sad that all my cool physical upgrades had all worn off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Spitting and coughing, I trudged back into the house to wash my mouth out and change my clothes. I still looked like an ABB Cosplay reject, only now I was streaked with mud, blood, vomit, and gooey substances. I had no shoes, my sunglasses were gone, my hoodie was more of a sweater streaked with blood and red dye, and my pants were in tatters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, if it weren’t for the green bandanna and reddish sweatshirt, you’d barely be able to tell that I had been an ABB-wannabe an hour or so ago. Still, I had the red and green for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder how much time I have to come up with a good excuse before my-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg!” Mom’s voice shrieked, and she nearly tripped in the front doorway. “What the hell happened to you? Where were you? What part of </span>
  <b>grounded</b>
  <span> did you not understand? Are you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait…green and red?” Dad peered at me, cocking his head to the side before squinting. “Is that some kind of Asian Bad Boys costume? Why would you wear something like that outside? Don’t you know how dangerous it could be? Not just culturally or sociologically, but also-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>-parents come home. Shit.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>***************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: A warehouse explosion, Lung going nuts, gang members shooting at people, and some crazy guy littering bullets all over a hospital...wonder how fast that news is spreading? Perhaps there’s someone in the Wards or Protectorate watching the situation with interest? Or...maybe they’re just bored and didn’t even notice it because of other distractions? Time for a very Wards Interlude!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Well, Greg finally learned from his mistakes, stopped running from his problems, stood up and did the right thing...and was held at gunpoint by a power-mad security guard. On the plus side, the PRT (at least two of them) seem to like him, and gave good advice.</p><p>Edits 12Sept2020: Sorry, but a lot of the old 1.9 and 1.10 were just me faffing about as Greg used pratfalls to understand his powers, but it was after he’d just spent a chapter doing that anyway. Add in the more concise version of his “battle” with Lung, and a lot had to be cleaned up to make it all work. Also, much as I loved hit chat with Velocity, it was just the PRT talk.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Interlude 3: The War Within</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: So I was thinking to myself, how best to display the mindset of a teenage vigilante who triggered at the age of 12, spent a few years training/fighting, got betrayed until she didn’t trust anyone, and was then forced onto a team? I mean, I didn’t want to change canon too much, but having some tweaks to motivation and reasoning pre-story didn’t seem too bad. Seeing as how she’s like an edgy teenage Punisher in some ways, I thought...War Journals! That’s the ticket!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Shadow Stalker’s War Journal</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I finally realized that I’m crap when it comes to hindsight. When I was a kid, I just charged right into dangerous situations, made huge mistakes, and counted on my parents and brother to clean up after me. I was a kid, it was okay. I didn’t have to learn from mistakes, because someone else could handle them for me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then Dad left, my brother moved out, and I did something that turned my mother against me. Suddenly, I lost all my safety nets, and my mistakes started to pile up. After one particularly big mistake, I probably should have died. Instead, I was saved by luck and my brother.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But I wasn’t saved. I was recruited into a war. I’ve been fighting ever since.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[3 Years Ago]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>When I was 12 years old, I was basically the ruler of my house. Mom was always out partying, networking, or at one of her many part time jobs, so I was the one who had to take care of everything. I learned to cook, cleaned the house, and even changed and fed baby Paula, my new sister. It was exhausting, but the look on Mom’s face always made it worth it. Dad had left months ago, and I knew that he appreciated me taking care of the family for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He even told me so, and in exchange I proudly told him on his weekend how much I did for Mom. He was so impressed that he let me tell his friend, Investigator Specialist Jackson, and they got me on tape explaining all I did. They called me a good girl, and said I was very brave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, I only saw Dad one more time, when he came with a bunch of people from something called CPS to take Paula and all her stuff to Dad’s place. Mom was really angry at me for that, crying and saying I was a liar, and spanked me a lot after they left. Dad had said I should call him if she did that, but I felt sorry for Mom and didn’t want to make more trouble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, Mom hated me and barely talked to me. She would go days without talking to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, there was still one Hess who loved me...my big brother, Terry! He’d moved out when I was 12 and he was 18, wanting independence. He ended up in an apartment with a bunch of other teens, in a bad part of town, and helped deliver groceries and do odd jobs for people. He was one of the reasons I wanted to be an adult so bad, because he was so awesome and nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One day in particular I was playing in the junkyard at the edge of our neighborhood. Terry had mentioned that he had business in there, and had told me to stay away. Naturally, I went to find him, something I had gotten really good at. Plus, it wasn’t like the junkyard’s security was anything that could stop a girl able to fit between the gates. I could fit through any gap!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...or so I thought, until an hour later, when I was in a half-crushed car watching a bunch of junkies attack Terry. I mean, he beat them easily, grinning at me all the while and even making color commentary, but I was still embarrassed to have gotten stuck. I’d climbed in to get a better look, the car had shifted, and the door wouldn’t open anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was okay! In no time Terry had grabbed some wallets from the junkies, tossed them in a duffel bag one had been carrying, and started sauntering over to save me. I could always count on him, and knew that as long as I had my big brother here I was safe. He’d always rescue me from any danger, solve any problem, and do it all with a big smile on his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then we heard dogs barking, and Terry’s smile vanished. He began to look around nervously. I couldn’t see well, but even I could hear that they were getting louder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Terry!” I shrieked, banging on the window so hard it hurt, trying to reach through its tiny gap to grab him. “Help me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry Sophia, you’re going to be fine.” He smiled again, and at least half of my worries went away. The dogs were still scary, but if Terry had a plan, then everything would be fine. “I’m going to run and call for help, so just stay here. In fact, if you could rock the car and make noise so those dogs don’t chase me, that would help. The car’s tough enough that they can’t get in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was scared, but Terry had never steered me wrong before. So as he ran off into the distance and five huge junkyard dogs charged into the area, I started to let out choked screams and rock the car. I slapped the windows, tapped the dash, and even honked the horn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Terry’s plan worked, and the dogs went right for me, smashing themselves uselessly against the car. It was the scariest thing I’d ever been through, but all I had to do now was wait for Terry to come back with help, and save me. No matter what, I had to stay here. I had to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the dogs started to smash against the window, cracks forming as it kept trying to get to me. I wanted to try and slip out through the trunk, but Terry had told me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to panic, hyperventilating as the dogs got louder and the cracks in the window got bigger. I could feel their breath on me, their saliva spattering me, and their eyes...they were staring at me like a fresh piece of meat in a box. I was trapped, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>had to stay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt like I was running away, but staying there. Like I was escaping, but obeying Terry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the dogs finally smashed through the window, its teeth going for my throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I closed my eyes and screamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...then I opened my eyes, and realized that I wasn’t dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was still in the car with the dog, but now instead of me cowering from it...it was whining and trying to escape me. I might have almost found it funny or pitiful, the way it was pressing itself back into the corner of the car, except that I felt...different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked down and saw that my leg...my body...was a smoky shadow?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I waved my hand around, and was shocked to see it pass through the ripped seat in front of me. It had felt like passing through a cloud, and moments later...I had passed through the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I decided to find Terry. He’d know what to do! With the dogs now afraid of me and my strange shadow power, I quickly made my way back to Terry’s place. An animal control vehicle passed me, but they were too late. I’d saved myself! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I decided to surprise Terry, and slipped through his door with ease, sneaking upstairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I found him sorting what seemed to be a pile of money and some baggies of white powder that had been in the duffel bag, a big grin on his face. Unfortunately he was always on alert, and spun around to face me the moment I stepped through his door. He stared at me, aghast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the he...Sophia? What the hell are you doing here? How did you do that?” He seemed confused, shaking his head as I dragged myself to my feet. I set myself against the wall, but could tell that using my power so much had tired me out. “You...you’re a parahuman…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! I got powers in the car.” I smiled at him, then switched back and forth a few times to show it off. “Isn’t it cool? I can be a superhero now! Did you plan this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Terry continued to stare at me, then looked between me and the table before laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, of course.” He was nodding now, his familiar smile returning. “I was testing you. I had to know if you had what it took, if you were a predator like me. Now I know you are, and with a bit of training you can become a true hero. Just like me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A hero?” I was dumbfounded. “You have powers too? Do you have a costume?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m a different sort of hero. I’m a predator, taking down drug dealers, and making sure they can’t hurt anyone ever again.” He gestured to the table with all the money and drugs on it. “I take their loot, and use it to get myself better gear, more information, and other useful tools. A costume would just slow me down, and make me a target...but you? You can be so much more!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course! You’re a Hess! It’s in your blood to help people, and with your powers you can help me stop a lot of bad guys.” He gave a little laugh at that, and reached down to put a hand on my head. “I’ll start teaching you first thing tomorrow. You’ll learn to fight, we’ll teach you tactics, and we’ll even get you a costume and some weapons. It’ll be hard though, are you up to it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” I said immediately, remembering the feeling of power that had passed through me when the dog had failed to bite me. The excitement of moving through the fence as though it wasn’t there. “I’ll do anything! Teach me to be a strong predator like you, Terry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, from now on you should call me teacher, or sensei, or...Predator.” Terry snapped his fingers. He pretended to think, then poked me in the forehead. “We should come up with a name for you, as well. Something that fits your powers, your capability...how about-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Shadow Stalker’s War Journal</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One of the reasons I was so eager to become a superhero was because I’d grown up seeing all the junkies, racists, and criminals in my neighborhood skate by actual punishment. They’d always find a way to bribe a cop, escape from jail, or avoid justice. Meanwhile, my parents were getting divorced because Dad wanted to move and Mom didn’t. Crime ruined my family.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There were only so many police, superheroes, and upstanding citizens in the world, and they were far outnumbered by the bad guys. So when Predator offered to train me, I jumped at the chance. He warned me it would hurt, but it was my chance to be like him, I couldn’t say no.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Really, I couldn’t. Ever since I’d gotten my powers, I had noticed that little things like fear and worry seemed so much weaker. That pain and challenges suddenly motivated me. That danger made my blood sing, and the chance to prove myself was like a drug I couldn’t get enough of.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The problem is, it also meant that I turned into what most people would have called a thrill-obsessed daredevil, an argument-prone jerk, and a violent bully. This wasn’t so bad when it was just Predator and I, but when I was around other people things would tend to get...messy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Now]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“-talker, come in! I repeat this is Gallant. Patrol with Clockblocker has reached halfway point in the Boardwalk. Nothing to report on our end. Any updates for us?” Gallant’s voice startled me, as I hurriedly sat up and looked around. Good, nobody had seen me slacking. “Shadow Stalker, come in. I repeat, any updates or areas in need of assistance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ABB set a warehouse on fire, but the fire department is handling it. Also, there was a situation at the hospital, but PRT and Velocity have it under control.” I replied in a tired monotone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What caused the fire?” Gallant asked, as if shooting emotions at a fire would help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lung. You might have heard of him. Big guy, turns into a dragon, shoots fire?” I found myself grinning, and added, “Rumor on PHO is that Lung was fighting some new cape, and their burning passion started the fire. You wanna go make it a threeway, shoot some love at them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Gallant’s voice cracked, and I quickly muted my comm so I could laugh. I could practically hear the normally unflappable teen blushing through the line. You’d think someone who patrolled with Clockblocker so much would have built up a resistance. “Was that a joke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Personally, I think that Shadow Stalker telling a joke is a sign of the end times.” Clockblocker’s voice cut in, and I heard the tell-tale metal on metal thwack of Gallant cuffing the other boy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...up Clock, it wasn’t that funny. Not only that, but it’s a dereliction of her duties.” Gallant’s comm crackled as he switched over to a direct line with me. I could still hear muffled laughter in the background. “I can’t believe you would say something like that on an open line, making all the Wards look bad, and right after you were punished for abandoning Aegis during a patrol!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, you’re breaking up...kssshhhh!” I made crackling noises and cut the connection. I already had a lecture and punishment lined up, not like this would make it worse. “God, you’re not even the leader of the Wards, stop acting like you have a stick up your ass!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, my Wards phone buzzed and I looked down to see that there were a few text messages on it. The most recent one was from Clockblocker, a large animated GIF of a face rolling back and forth on the ground. Next to it was a stick and a peach. Grinning, I flipped through the other messages just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, the rest of them were from Emma. She was going on about her latest plan, and how it would be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>amazing. It was hard to believe she had changed so much. Or so little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Shadow Stalker’s War Journal</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Predator taught me a lot about tactics, during the days I was healing from his combat lessons, or recovering from a tumble off a roof or something. Even this downtime wasn’t wasted, because his lessons on tactics were always so interesting. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He told me that my particular build, skills, and powers made me perfect for reconnaissance and stealth. That said, it was important that I didn’t just rush in when encountering enemies. Instead, he told me I should hang back, look at my foes and their victims, and get the lay of the land.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When it came to enemies, knowing the strongest and the weakest were important. Take down the strong and all their followers can be stunned, maybe even demoralized. Take down the weak and you accomplish nothing. But he also told me that I had to look at their prey as well.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Strong prey (an oxymoron, I always thought) could run or at least try to fight back, and made great distractions. Weak prey, on the other hand, had to be saved first...because they were useless. They would just cry, cower, and expose their bellies to be cut open.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So imagine my surprise one night, when I saw the weakest prey take down the strongest predator. It was right about then that I began to wonder...was Predator wrong? I took it upon myself to befriend this girl, this survivor...to see if she could teach me anything.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What a mistake that turned out to be.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Summer, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Crouched on a rooftop, I stared down through the dim light of the setting sun and watched Emma verbally attack Taylor Hebert. It was hard to believe that this was the same girl who had once proposed helping the girl, and was now her greatest foe. She’d run into Hebert in public, and without anyone around Emma was really letting her have it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How is this girl my friend? She’s a step away from assaulting Hebert, and for what?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After I’d saved Emma and her father from the ABB, I had been tempted to just forget about her. Sure, the way she went after that ABB thug had been impressive, but I was so used to being alone that the idea of taking in a sidekick or friend just seemed so foreign to me. A part of me wanted to see her again, I suppose, because a few days later I found her on a rooftop, waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d managed to track me down, showing initiative that impressed me, and begged me to teach her. She said I was so amazing, and as much as I was worried I still let her act as my support. She had a type of strength I’d never even considered, the power of words and manipulation...and with my Predator-taught skills I grew even more confident and powerful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a two way street, and so I paid Emma back by passing those same lessons on to her. Predator’s tactics, mindset, and non-physical lessons were greedily absorbed by Emma. She used it all to reinvent herself, throwing away her old life and embracing a new one. She cut out everything from her old life, including her old friend Taylor, and we both moved forward into the future. It was the two of us against the world, and we knew that no foe could stand against us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the summer came to an end and high school lurked on the horizon, Emma asked for my help. She told me that she’d realized that she had transformed from prey into a predator that night, adversity having forced her to evolve. She said that she’d hit rock bottom, thought about the strongest person she knew, and then fought to overcome the ABB. She was now strong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After experiencing it first-hand, Emma wanted to do the same for Hebert...saying that she owed her friend that much. She knew it would hurt, having to tear her oldest friend down, but that being able to rebuild Hebert afterwards to be as strong as us would make it all worth it. Already feeling like I owed Emma, I agreed to work with her...because the idea made so much sense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma promised that we wouldn’t be working alone on this. Winslow was a breeding ground for people who needed an excuse to vent stress, and within days we had two other girls helping us in our quest. Julia, a stout girl who always looked like she wanted to hit someone, was happy to shove and trip Hebert when I was busy. Meanwhile, some tiny girl named Madison popped up with a talent for peer pressure, almost a parahuman power of its own, to get other kids in on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it didn’t take long for me to realize that Emma was just lying to all of us, and maybe even herself. I saw the look on Emma’s face whenever someone would hurt Hebert, and it wasn’t the look of a friend. It was the same expression I’d seen on the ABB and E88 gangsters as they hurt people, tormented them, and ground them down into the dirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I soon realized that the promise I’d seen in Emma had been only skin deep. Rather than wanting to grow stronger, she was just a bully, and despite all her words about making Hebert stronger she was only lying to make herself feel better about it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was right about the time I had started to realize that Terry’s mindset was far too limiting. Dividing people into two categories of Predator and Prey was...stupid. Weak people could become strong, like Emma had...or be strong in other ways. Terry was always saying that Mom was Prey, but she’d been strong enough to take on several jobs, and had never truly given up on any of her children...even after the things I did. People were more complex than that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In other words, </span>
  <b>Predator and Prey was bullshit.</b>
  <span> Even if Emma embraced it, I’d evolved past it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, I was afraid to abandon the closest thing I’d ever had to a friend. I heard Emma laughing, as Hebert finally managed to get away. I decided that this year, when school started in a few days, I’d try to focus more on other things. I had the Wards now, I was on the track team at Winslow, and my grades were so crappy that I could probably even get a tutor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I held out a secret hope that Emma would just wake up, so I didn’t have to leave her. After being abandoned by my father, mother, and brother...I was too afraid to abandon my friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Shadow Stalker’s War Journal</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Predator put a lot of time into me, and I like to think I paid him back in spades. Together, we took down easily a hundred drug dealers, closed down a few meth labs, and killed at least three drug kingpins. Tens of thousands of dollars in product destroyed, guns melted, and junkies saved.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or at least, that’s what I had always thought. After two or so years together, I started noticing little holes in Predator’s stories. The way Predator was selling guns and drugs for money, how the drug rings we supposedly closed down never went away, and Predator seemed to grow ever richer. I finally started asking questions, doing research, and discovered he was a criminal!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Unfortunately, Predator caught on, and turned against me. He knew things about me...about my family, and also knew how dangerous I was as an enemy. So he gave me an ultimatum: I stay out of his district and leave him alone, and my mother and I are never troubled by his knowledge of my identity. I was so shocked that I accepted, and haven’t seen him since. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Abandoned by my father, hated by my mother, betrayed by my teacher. Maybe that’s why I accepted Survivor so quickly. I had been fighting alone for so long, binding my own wounds and with nobody to watch my back, I got desperate. I needed a teammate, a confidant...a friend.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was so desperate to keep her that I taught her everything, and that was my biggest mistake. She became just like Predator, with all his hate and none of my experience. I suppose that I should have seen it coming when I tried to leave her... </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...and she betrayed me just like he had. I’m crap at hindsight, after all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[A Few Days Ago, Friday Dec 17]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha, did you see her face when Veder insulted her?” Emma laughed, leaning on me as we waited for the others to arrive. “I thought she was going to break down right then and there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, funny.” I looked at Emma out of the corner of my eye. “Hey, speaking of Veder, what was with you inviting him to this party of yours? I thought you said it was exclusive or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Party? Oh yeah, that reminds me.” She pulled out one of the burner phones I’d gotten her, and started texting someone. I had taken it off a drug dealer a while back, using it to spy on him, but eventually his friends stopped answering the texts. A few tweaks, and now it was just one of many spare phones. “I need to tell him where the ‘party’ is and give him the secret password.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so he really is coming to the party?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pfft, of course not.” She leaned over, letting me peer over her shoulder. The address looked familiar. “Unless you mean the ‘nazi party.’ This should teach him not to bug me anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on.” I reached for the phone, but Emma turned and slid away, typing a few more things and moving across her room. “Emma, you can’t send that! That address is in E88 territory, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know where it is, Sophia. You told me about it, after all. You had been scoping it out for a bit of vigilante work, in your ‘off-duty’ hours.” She grinned at me, looking up from her conversation with Veder. For a moment, I thought it was Terry smiling at me “Maybe that cape-nerd will get lucky and run into Alabaster or something. It’ll be an autograph he’ll never forget...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grimaced, then grabbed my things and started leaving. If I hurried, I could get there before Veder got shanked. He was annoying, but nobody deserved to be-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where do you think you’re going?” Emma put a hand out, examining her fingernails as if they’d stopped being perfect in the last few minutes. She gestured around her, at her room, clothes, and electronics. “Are you seriously throwing all this away over some creepy nerd? Are you just going to walk away from your best friend when she’s trying to have a little fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t fun, Emma. Criminals are one thing, but people like Veder and Hebert are just weak teenagers.” I glared at her, and she barely reacted. “If you weren’t so obsessed with hurting them, maybe you’d have noticed that I stopped being your friend a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obsessed?” She laughed, shaking her head and sauntering over to her computer. She took a seat, primly crossing her legs and started typing. “Speaking of obsessed, let me tell you before you leave about this case Daddy was just working on. It was about a man whose wife was obsessed with abusing him, and who tried to hire a hitman to kill him when he told the police.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I put my shoes on and headed for the door, but she just kept talking, gesturing at the screen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The man was afraid she’d get away with it, so he put the videos of her away on a special server, with a built-in command to release them to the police and news agencies if he didn’t enter a password every few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, real interesting.” I rolled my eyes, turning the doorknob. “Nice knowing you. Bye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure would be a shame if someone did that sort of thing with information on </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I froze, slowly looking at Emma. She cocked her head towards her computer screen…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On her screen was a picture of me in my costume, mask removed. It had been taken right up close, as if the person with the camera was only a few feet away. She tapped a button, and it vanished, revealing countless videos and pictures. Emma smiled again, just like Terry had.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you...if you...” I felt as if I’d been punched in the stomach, and leaned back against the door. It was like I was in the car again, trapped and crying. “You can’t! You can’t do th-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to get out of here, get to the PRT. They can stop her, destroy those files.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you could go running to the PRT or something,” she said, as if reading my mind. Emma moved to my side, her hand on my shoulder. Nails pricked my flesh lightly and she whispered, “Do you know how long before I have to enter the code again, or how easily I can make it all go out with nothing more than a phone call? Face it...you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>mine</span>
  </em>
  <span>. My </span>
  <em>
    <span>prey</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want?” I whispered, my throat dry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me tell you about my latest plan for Taylor.” She leaned in, grinning as if it were some big secret. “I already have Madison gathering trash, and you’re going to help me put it somewhere special. By the time we get back from Winter Break, it’ll be good and ripe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Emma is a monster. I...made her into this. I passed Terry’s poison on to her. This is my fault.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the meantime, I’ve noticed that you have problems making friends, so you’ll be helping me become best friends again with Taylor. Fake sleepovers, meals, shopping, and everything else.” She made a little choking sound, wiping away an imaginary teardrop. With false sadness in her voice, she whined, “Oh Taylor, I was just so confused and scared, I wanted the older girls to like me. Please, won’t you forgive me? I just...I just want my friend back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would she ever believe you?” I wanted to punch Emma, and not just because of this stupid plan. “You started all this saying you wanted to make her stronger, that she was your friend! Who the hell does something like this to a friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh silly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>predators don’t have friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You taught me that, remember?” Emma patted my cheek and walked across the room. “Besides, she already replied to my email that she wants to meet me tomorrow to ‘work things out.’ She’s so desperate to be my friend again, it’s pitiful! This way, when we get her in two weeks, it will utterly destroy her. Like giving a starving person food and then stomping on it after they take a few bites.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t go to the PRT. Can’t risk it. I need time. Time to come up with a plan. To fix this myself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now get dressed, Sophia. We have a party to get to. Afterwards, we can make plans for the sleepover. I’m thinking just the three of us at first, and then a bigger one on New Year’s.” Emma started to write things down, putting little hearts above her i’s and using glitter ink. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t even tell my team, or they’ll get dragged down with me. I’m all alone again.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Shadow Stalker’s War Journal</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I could only fight crime as a vigilante for so long before I slipped up, even with Survivor supporting me. She was useless in a fight, despite the lessons I tried to pass onto her, but she had friends in the legal system...so I managed to avoid jail. Problem is, I still got punished.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The punishment, in this case, was being press-ganged into joining the Wards. Sure, I got a fancy phone and some better armor than the homemade thing I’d been maintaining after I left Predator, but the job also came with the worst thing possible for a solo act...a team.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t just that I hated them, but rather that I found it really hard to trust them. I had trusted Predator, and he both betrayed and blackmailed me. I had befriended Survivor, and she used my lessons to turn into the worst kind of bully...as well as dragging me and others into it. So when I was given a third chance to make some sort of connection, I fought it with all I had.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Most of the team reacted as I had thought they would. Clockblocker treated me like a joke, Kid Win acted like I was a threat, Gallant decided I was a delinquent, Aegis ignored me, and Triumph was gone before I could get a read on him. But Vista...she refused to give up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Vista was familiar, and it took me a few weeks to realize why. She was a preteen who was desperate to prove herself, to grow stronger, to overcome adversity, and to be respected despite her age. She was Me, before Predator had gotten his hooks into me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe that’s why I stopped fighting her so hard. I had always wondered how I would have turned out if Predator had only taught me the good lessons. So without her knowing it, I started to end each of our exchanges with a lesson of some kind, hidden among my barbs and blows. I think she caught on, because suddenly she was laughing a lot more, and so was I.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We aren’t friends by any means, but we do respect each other. That’s good enough, I guess.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Now]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, anyone else might have called you out for texting while on Console Duty, but I’ll let it slide if you help me out…” A high-pitched voice startled me out of my daydreams, and I fumbled with my phone. It slipped out of my hands, flying through the air at the speaker, and a warning died on my lips as I saw who it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The phone flew through the air, then seemed to just...hang there and shrink. I knew that it was an optical illusion of sorts, that the phone only looked like it was hovering or shrinking because the space between its destination and its location had been expanded by the space-distorting powers of the Wards’ youngest member, Vista. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Saving people from the horrors of a broken or cracked phone screen...” Nearly five seconds after the phone had left my fingers, it landed in the outstretched hand of a young girl who couldn’t have been more than 12 years old. She returned space to its normal function and handed the phone back to me. “...truly, my talents are almost as underutilized as yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, no kidding.” I checked the phone over, then stashed it away as she took a seat. I’d been in a pretty bad funk, and the encounter with Gallant hadn’t made it any better, so I decided to go with an old standby. “What, you trying to be nice to me so Gallant will praise you for it? Maybe he’ll pat you on the head, like in Clockblocker’s anime?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no!” Vista couldn’t hide the slight blush that appeared on her cheeks, and she hurriedly held some papers I hadn’t noticed before in front of her face, pretending to read something. She swallowed whatever cutting remark she’d been chewing on, and replied, “He’s just looking out for us. I respect him as a friend and teammate. But, he does come down pretty hard on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll bet you’d like him to come down hard on you, eh?” Euphemisms. It was her fault for setting me up like that, really. I pushed a bit more, cocking an eyebrow. “In your dreams. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the f-” Vista cut herself off, her face glowing with a mix of anger and something a 12-year-old probably shouldn’t have known. Vista gritted her teeth, swallowed, and tried to continue. “Ha, good one. But seriously, I’ll bet you’d be a lot happier if you were out on the streets, fighting criminals instead of pushing paper.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, fine. You obviously want something enough to put up with my BS. What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want your help with a plan I intend to bring up to the Director. I’ve got an idea that could be a significant improvement for our ability to deal with criminals, as well as provide us an inside information source when it comes to certain crimes.” She spoke quickly and clearly, obviously having practiced this part. I waited for her to continue...but she had stopped for some reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds great. What’s the problem?” I pressed, then realized that I was one of the last people to come to when it came to ‘presenting ideas’ or dealing with criminals in ways that didn’t involve violence. “Also, why are you coming to me with this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not exactly a PR-friendly idea, and I’m pretty sure the Youth Guard would rather lock me up in the Birdcage than let me try this.” She grimaced, shaking her head. “If they had their way, then I wouldn’t even be able to leave Wards HQ for fear of hurting my delicate little body.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that sounds a lot like them. I still remember when they argued that letting me keep my crossbow would risk me shooting my eye out.” We both laughed, having plenty of stories of how over-the-top the Youth Guard could be. Their preference for heavy-handed one-size-fits-all solutions made them more annoying than useful. “They think we’re all kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly!” Vista started to get angrier than I expected, her face turning red and she turned away from me and started ranting at nobody in particular. “I know that the villains are older and bigger than me, but that doesn’t mean that I need to be treated like a baby. I’m told to trust the PRT, but they always lie about letting me do more and treat me like a child! It’s not fair!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Vista, about this plan of yours…” I trailed off for a moment, giving her a start as she realized that she’d lost the plot. “I get how you feel trapped. I really do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your power is literally to pass through things and escape.” She glared at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I didn’t always have this power.” I thought back to Mom’s disapproving glare, to Terry’s poisonous teachings, and to Emma’s blackmail. “Also, there are some things that you can’t escape even with a power like this. All I’m trying to say is that you’re getting too hung up on trying to prove yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This from the person who always has to be the best at every physical competition we have with the other Wards?” Vista grinned and deepened her voice, “I know I’m an angry loner, but listen to this thoughtful life advice Vista. If we have more than one edgelord on the team, it might make me lose out on merchandising with the teenage emo crowd!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s what you think?” I grinned, despite myself, and pitched my voice as high I could. “Shadow Stalker, stop giving me good advice about patience! If I ever take a break  from kicking ass, I might accidentally enjoy my childhood a little. I need to spend all my time complaining about being treated like a child and talking about my Hookwolf scar too damn much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not talk about that scar too much!” She got up, stomping a foot and puffing out her cheeks a bit. As if she realized what she was doing, she quickly looked away as I chuckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, in fact I was kind of wondering how you got it.” I said with a straight face, cocking my head to the side. “I only heard a few details from Clockblocker, and it really looks like it hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess since you asked nicely…” Vista frowned and looked back at me, a far-away look in her eyes. “It wasn’t that long ago, but I was working alongside-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just kidding,” I cut her off. I rolled my eyes with an exaggerated sigh. “You’ve told me something like a dozen times. I could probably recite the story better than you at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” She practically shouted, then turned towards me with murder in her eyes. “Why you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gallant had been confused, to say the least, to return from his patrol and find Vista and I cracking up in front of the Console. She was telling me a story about the time Kid Win had tried to make the TV in the Wards common room have something called Smell-o-vision. Apparently he’d only gotten about twenty smells working, and had forgotten to make an ‘Off’ switch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Needless to say, Gallant was so uncomfortable that he just told us to have a nice night, then wandered off. Next thing I knew I was changing clothes, taking the bus home, and sighing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom was there, passed out on the couch with an empty bottle. I put a blanket over her and went up to my room, but I didn’t feel tired. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead I just stood there, looking out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Terry was blackmailing me to stay out of his part of town, and could unmask me any day. He could go after Mom anytime he wanted, or give me an even worse ultimatum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma was doing the same, and I’d been the one to train her. I had passed Terry’s poison on to her, and she had used it to make me her attack dog.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if I told the PRT about either, the info might still get leaked, and Mom would be in danger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All I could do was wait for an opening, hold my secrets, and keep trying to get stronger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stronger than Terry. Stronger than Emma. Stronger than everyone else in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They might have thought I was beaten, that I was defeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My war wasn’t over, not by a long shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*****************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg may have escaped a dragon, the ABB, Hospital Security, the PRT, and the Protectorate, but can he stand up to the immense power of Disappointed Parents? </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Sophia is a terrible person, for her attitude, her actions, and her mindset. Like Greg, it took a terrible experience (her trigger, Terry, and seeing her friend become a monster...by her hand) to make her want to be better. Unfortunately, unlike Greg she was caught in a trap of her own making, and now we’re on track for things to go down as in canon...despite her reluctance. She may be kind of AU here, but now it’s defined as being due to her brother’s training/betrayal and Vista actually trying to work with her...instead of just writing her off as an asshole.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. 1.10: Understanding My Parents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>1.10: Understanding My Parents </b>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Being a parent can’t be easy. Not only are you responsible for yourself, but there’s also a kid in the mix. Regardless of their age, they’re going to get into trouble, make mistakes, and you have to be there (if you’re any good at it) every step of the way to deal with it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still, you can only do so much, because at a certain point you have to be willing to step back. You have to let them make mistakes, so that they can figure out how to succeed...usually from their failures. Your child is a reflection of you, and thus you share their failures...as well as working to make them hurt less.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I mean, just look at me! I screwed up all the time growing up, and continue to make mistakes to this day. Even though I’m working to make less of them these days, I’m partially driven by the memories of my parents sometimes being disappointed or confused by my accomplishments. I want to be better, to become a hero, not just for myself...but also for my parents.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My point is that parents have it really hard, and that some kids probably make it really hard to enjoy the job. But unlike some jobs, it’s not one that you can just give up on. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As much grief as I give them, I’m glad mine never gave up on me!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“-can’t believe he could be so thoughtless!” Mom was winding down, loud enough that I could hear her from upstairs. “We can’t just let him keep doing things like this, Stanley! What if the neighbors had seen him parading around in those clothes? Barefoot?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He came in from the backyard, Sandra, I’m pretty sure if they saw him it was because they were using a trampoline to look over the fence into our yard.” Dad smiled, but it was like pouring a can of soda on a forest fire. She just blazed right through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rubbed my face with the towel one more time, and then stared myself down in the mirror. To think, just a few hours ago I had looked into this very same mirror as my mind burned with hate and a need to prove myself, and then I’d gone out and made an ever bigger mess. At least in the past few minutes I’d managed to wash off all my blood and bone gunk, as well as cleaning the tub and pouring a healthy amount of bleach in after it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just imagine if Mom noticed that the “fake blood” in the tub smelled suspiciously real.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d also taken off all the elements of my ABB cosplay, put them in a plastic bag, tied a big knot in it, and hidden it in my closet. Between the blood, sweat, bullet holes, and other elements of the “costume,” the last thing I needed was for someone to find it and connect it to anything. I’d seen enough TV to know that leaving evidence around was dangerous, so I’d dispose of it soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg!” Dad’s voice hollered up at me, sounding like there wasn’t a single ounce of good humor left in his voice. “Get down here. It’s time for us to have a talk!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Practically hearing a funeral march, I walked downstairs and sat on the couch. Mom and Dad were already there, pointedly ignoring me and just staring at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom snuck a look at me and winced, and I realized she was reacting to the mangled mess that used to be my hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d always rocked an easy-going bowl cut before, finding it to be less stressful than other haircuts and never needing mousse or any products to keep in line. I doubted that she liked seeing what I (and the ABB) had done to it, and my attempts to even things out in the bathroom had left me with a butchered hairstyle that looked like something even Skidmark wouldn’t sport.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both kept staring at each other, and the silence went on for nearly a minute. I cleared my throat nervously, and although both moved they still wouldn’t even glance in my direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took the time to review the vague set of lies I had come up with in the shower, full of coincidences and half-truths. Thanks to George’s little makeup story earlier in the day, I could probably just work alongside that and say that I had-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Explain yourself, Gregory,” Mom said suddenly, and then she finally looked at me with tearful eyes and a bit of a quaver in her voice. “The truth. Tell us what you were doing today. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All thoughts of outright lying shattered. Which was bad, because the truth was…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dangerous. The truth is dangerous, and painful, and I’m afraid to say any of it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I just need a moment to figure out where to start...” I trailed off, closing my eyes and putting my chin on my fist in a classic thinking pose. “A lot has happened today.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just start at the beginning, and then work your way forwards.” I popped open an eye to look at Dad, but there was no grin on his face (not even a smirk). This wasn’t Joke Dad...it was the rarely seen and seriously dangerous Serious Dad. I closed my eyes again, as he added, “We just want you to be honest with us, son. Tell us everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s the problem though, Dad. There’s too much everything. It’s all a huge web of lies!</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>If I explained my costume, then I’d have to explain why I was going out dressed like that, which would lead back to my powers, which would lead to my trigger, the E88, and...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I explained my powers, then I’d have to tell them I’d gone out that night against their wishes, which would lead to the E88 story, Hookwolf, the PRT, the Protectorate, and...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I told them I left the house because of my argument with George, then they’d go after him and he’d probably rat me out </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I explained my hair being a butchered mess, then I’d have to also set their minds at ease by saying that my second-degree burns had healed, because powers, and...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and then one or both of my parents would have a heart attack, ground me for life, and force me to join the Wards. Not necessarily in that order. But that was the truth, and I absolutely positively couldn’t tell them most of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I told them one thing, I’d have to tell them other things as well. My entire day, hell my entire week ever since I’d gotten powers had become a huge Gordian knot of coincidences, problems, mistakes, and half-assed solutions. I was trapped in a spider’s web of problems and failures, and all it would take was one wrong step and they’d jump on me and reveal it all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt myself start hyperventilating. My heart was pounding. Tears were leaking from my eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg?” Mom was standing beside me, her hand on my shoulder, and as I opened my eyes I saw her struggling not to look above my eyeline. She took a breath and said, “It may seem complex, and strange, but...we’re your parents. We’ll understand. But we can’t even try if you won’t talk to us. Please...”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Deep breath, Greg. Start with the part all three of you know, and go slowly...stay calm.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I managed to get myself under control, telling myself that I’d be avoiding anything power-related, and for some reason that helped me settle down. I just had to do it without outing myself as a parahuman, fake gang member, nazi-insulting antagonist, masked vigilante, or Lung-baiter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know how when you left, earlier today, I was in bed with a lot of...makeup on, and I just felt terrible.” From my many bruises and wounds, many of them self-inflicted, but I left that part out. Both parents nodded at me, and I took that as a signal to keep going. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George was less than happy with me, having had to cover for me. He also made sure that I understood how much the two of you were looking forward to us going out as a family.” I looked away, hoping that my reluctance would add to the believability and also keep them from prying too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, it’s true that we wanted to go out together. The service today was beautiful, the weather nice, and a lot of our friends were there.” Dad nodded, then cocked his head at Mom and continued when she didn’t join in. “But it was more about being out as a family than anything else. We missed you when we were on that trip, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. I missed you guys as well. In fact, there was even a point where I ran into a small...problem, and found myself asking, ‘What would George do?’” That was true, and luckily they didn’t ask for the context. Speaking of George, this next part would be tough, because they would almost certainly talk to George about it...assuming that they hadn’t already. “After you guys left, the two of us talked and I...said some things I shouldn’t have. I even yelled at him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can talk about that later, Greg.” Mom dabbed at her eyes with a napkin, looking down at the floor as her other hand leaned on the wall. She shook her head slightly, gathering herself before finally glancing at me with a small smile on her face. “He only said that you’d been hard to talk to, and that he’d lost his temper when trying to express himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we both did. I was trying to get him to understand that I had p-” I cut myself off, very nearly blowing it and outing myself as a cape. I quickly tried again, deliberately avoiding looking at either. “Problems. I had some problems with him treating me like a kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is your older brother.” Dad drawled, and I could practically see him glancing at Mom. “You always looked up to him, and he always took care of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but this time I didn’t need him to!” I didn’t exactly shout it, but I still felt like it had been too much. “No, I mean, he made me look like a fool, as if I didn’t know how to read the labels on makeup or art supplies. So I told him to cut it out, and we fought-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You hit your brother?” Mom’s voice was sharp, and I instantly felt anger...and then shame for getting angry at my own mother. Besides, why should I be mad at her for assuming that I was the one at fault, or that I’d made a snap decision like that? It was totally in character for me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, you need to use your words to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t hit George! I just wanted him to quit treating me like a kid, like I was pretending to be a hero!” I shouted, this time for real. I looked up and saw both of them looking confused, so I added, “I threw on some clothes, went out to...think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where did you go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just...out!” Neither parent looked like they believed me. To be honest, I don’t think any parent ever has believed a kid who claimed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Out</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be an actual location. I quickly threw some more fuel on the fire, before I could stop myself. “I met some people, and we hung out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who were these people? Friends? What were their names?” Dad asked, looking worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some kids I’ve seen before, I don’t know their names.” Mom’s mouth opened, but I tried to cut her off before she could give another lecture about gangs and drugs. “Sure, yes, one might have been a gang kid, but I was afraid to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afraid? They took you somewhere against your will?” Dad stepped forward, putting a hand on the phone. “Did they threaten you? Were they armed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, only one of them was armed.” I stopped, and waved my hands as Dad started to pick up the phone. “I mean, he had a gun, but it wasn’t...I mean...wait! Calm down, please!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you say that? Where is this gun?” Dad picked the phone up, finger going towards the buttons. “I’ll call the police! They need to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s gone!” I shouted, miming the way Lung had crushed it. I started babbling, panicking at the thought of my parents getting the police involved and just threw out words all out of order. “Lung crushed it in his hand, the ABB ran away, the wine bottles exploded, and then the building collapsed while I ran to the hospital!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In his…then the building...collapsed...” Mom trailed off, then put her face in her hands. Her shoulders began to shake. Dad hung up and quickly crossed the room, placing his hand on her back and leaning in. He whispered something to her, and I could hear her voice crack slightly as she replied. “Wine bottles, Stanley. They exploded.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, I thought that I’d made her start crying, but instead she let out a laugh. When she took her hands away and lifted her head, I could see tears, but now she was laughing much louder than before. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh no, I broke them. I broke my parents...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She whispered something to Dad, and he let out a snort.  Then he was laughing as well. They hung onto each other, letting out laughter as I stood there in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them spared a glance for me, started laughing again, and then waved at me in the universal gesture for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay</span>
  </em>
  <span> and left the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...what the hell just happened?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughter was a new reaction to my screwups, and that told me I was in deep shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were definitely madder than the time I’d snuck into the movies to see a movie that they’d forbidden me from seeing. They were probably more disappointed than the time I’d climbed a tree to save a cat and gotten stuck. They were almost definitely more annoyed than the time I’d wrecked George’s flour baby and then lied about it. Just waiting for punishment was killing me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily I didn’t have to wait very long, as they soon came back through the door, both shaking their heads and talking about something. All I could make out was the words right at the end, as Dad saying, “...aside from Carol Cleveland, all the female roles were played by the male members of Monty Python, so it’s not that much of a stretch. Kind of brave, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True, but we still need to balance that with disobeying us.” Mom replied, then both turned to see my confusion and wiped the small smiles off their faces. After another glance at each other, they finally approached and Dad sat beside me as Mom began to pace a little. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, we’re using the normal punishment setup now? What’s going on?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, your father and I have talked, and we’ve decided that as proud of you as we are for getting yourself cleaned up and making some new friends…” Mom started, then sighed and shook her head before sending a small frown at me. “We can’t excuse the fact that you went out after you were expressly grounded for the day. Even if it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do something you love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and as much as I look forward to seeing this new video you’re making and the work you put into that costume of yours, you still left the house. I also want to talk to you about dressing up like a member of the ABB.” Dad shook his head and talked over me as I started to explain. “No, no, I get it. But, Greg, you have to be careful with this sort of thing, especially in a town that literally has a gang whose first two rules are ‘Asians rule’ and ‘Everyone else drools.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, if there was ever any doubt that he was my father, that’s long gone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your father’s right, honey.” Mom spoke up, then smiled uneasily as she looked off into the distance. “You want to tear down social norms and play parts that aren’t necessarily made for you, but playing the part of an Asian gang member isn’t just a face that you can put on and take off. There are some books I want you to read, if this is something you really want to do again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly, son. There’s more to a part than just reading lines and wearing a costume. I’m not sure if you understand the consequences that art can carry for a teenager. You’re young, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, they just want to talk to me and have me read some books? I expected at least a month-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, you’re grounded for a week.” Dad said, then held up a hand to cut off any complaints I had. I’d actually accepted their punishment, but had to at least pretend to argue or they might have given me worse. “Now, now. We’ve made our decision. You got off light, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I think that while it was admirable for you to try and fix the makeup issue yourself, it was still dangerous and showed a lack of common sense.” Mom added sternly, looking at me as she sighed and shook her head. “You could have run into a gang, gotten hurt, or even run across someone who actually had dangerous powers or weapons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t say a word. Don’t say that I ran into a gang (on purpose), got hurt (a lot), and ran across MANY people with dangerous powers and weapons. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded silently, but Mom kept looking at me oddly. She cocked an eyebrow at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was there something else, Greg?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, nothing else that really comes to mind.” I lied, looking her in the eye and letting my fake smile slowly fade. “Just thinking about the next few days, is all. Lots of time at home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I’m sure looking forward to it, Greg.” Dad grinned, a decent amount of his old self shining through. “It means you get to spend the next few days helping us with chores. Fun ones, too! Decorating the house, cooking food for the festivities, buying a tree and getting it all spruced up. Although in our case, we’ll stick to a fir tree instead of a spruce, haha!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried to fake a chuckle at Dad’s remarks, but they cut off when I noticed that Mom was still looking at me oddly. Luckily, she decided not to press me, and gestured at the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, now come along. I need to see what I can do to salvage your hair.” She looked me over, being just a few inches taller than me and poking at my scalp as I passed her. I winced, and she muttered, “I hate to give you a buzz cut, but it looks like that might be the best option. Seriously, it looks like you burned half of your hair off and then attacked it with a chainsaw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe I got attacked by a dragon…” I trudged up the stairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! Don’t even joke about that.” Mom shook her head, coming up the stairs behind me. “There’s only one dragon in this town, and if he ever comes within a block of any of you...I’ll turn into a dragon myself and eat him alive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A minute later, as she chopped and evened my hair even further (at least it would be easier to take care of now), I idly wondered who would win in a fight...Mom or Lung?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, even without powers Mom is a total badass...so it’d probably be a draw.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later that night, just after Mom and Dad’s lights had gone off, I was at my computer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had certainly been an eye-opening experience for me, in more ways than one. Sure, I had learned a lot about my powers, as well as their limitations, but the cost had been pretty high. I’d nearly died several times, had nearly been arrested, had been shot, burned, busted, and blown up...and finally grounded at the end of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wanted to stop running, to stop making it up as I go along. Wish I could actually ask for help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, I was still kind of...banned from posting on PHO.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I won’t get into the whole thing, but about a day before I’d triggered I had maybe sort of gotten into an argument with someone about the relationship between Assault and Battery. I still say that if you look at the interviews, it’s obvious that they’re married, but I probably didn’t absolutely </span>
  <b>need</b>
  <span> to use that many four-letter words to express my opinion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My Posting Ban still had...47 hours left on it, so all I could really do was read threads on a few Public Boards and send messages to people on my Friends list. Sorry, person. I had 1 Friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>GstringGirl</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my mysterious friend and confidant, who I was about 68% was actually a girl. I didn’t really care that much about it, when you got right down to it, but I still had a habit of reading things from her (mentally) in a female voice. I’d never convinced her to send me pictures or any information, but it still would have been nice to know one way or the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On the other hand, the Internet is a dangerous place. I can’t blame her for being cautious.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>What mattered was that she was my friend, had ideas, and most of all...was actually awake at 10pm on a Sunday night. After some light banter about minor things, I started to talk to her about my current situation. To avoid being too vague, as well as outright lying to her, I was going back to my old plan of pretending that I was doing all this for a “friend.” I was my own friend (my only friend?) in a way, so this was at least in the ballpark of being true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, talking to her was making me realize how much I missed...people. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: so what was the thing you wanted to ask?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: Hypothetical. What would you do to help a friend with family problems who got powers?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: the problems got powers? how does that work? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: What? No, I mean a teen who got powers, but had family problems first.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: what kind of family probs? abusive or something? Villains? why do u ask?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: Nothing that bad, like just always dumping on him and grounding him</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: wait, is this another self-insert fanfic? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: ...sure, let’s go with that. What would you do in his place?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: first i gotta know: what powers?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: Power-copy, but they kind of mess with your mind and body.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: i was gonna say OP, but that sounds like it could be nightmare fuel</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: Yeah, so you can see how having parents always crapping on him too would be bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: are they, though? or are they just being parents, with tough love and stuff</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: What’s that supposed to mean?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: my mom’s real strict, but i know she loves me because of everything else</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: Wouldn’t bad parents get worse if they knew he had powers?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: they’re still his parents. maybe they’d get better if they had a reason to?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: What about besides the parents? Could he go to anyone else?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: needs a support network, that’s most important</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: What, like a phone line he could call?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: anything works. friend. therapist. prt. sassy ai. magical golf caddy...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: ...wait, so you finally saw </span>
  <em>
    <span>Legend of Bagger Vance</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl</b>
  <span>: yes! so glad, too, because denzel washington was so dreamy. dat voice!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me</b>
  <span>: Well, if you like that, then you’ll love him in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Men in bla</span>
  </em>
  <span>smdkamsmlkskdmk-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t actually type that last part. Rather, I was startled because at that moment, Dad opened my door and I had mashed the keyboard by accident. Knowing what was coming, I quickly typed out, </span>
  <em>
    <span>gotta go bye</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and hit the button to shut down my computer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg.” He motioned with his hands for me to move back, and I did so wordlessly. He moved forward, easily stepping around the piles of clothes and books in the dim light, and knelt in front of my desk. “I’m sorry son, but I heard you tapping away and...if I don’t do this now then your Mom is going to do it in the morning. Grounded means grounded, and that means no computers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A minute later, he returned and held out his hand. “Phone too, son. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I get it.” I sighed, handing him my phone. He tried to smile at me, but it just looked tired. I felt the same way, honestly. As he turned to leave, I was suddenly struck by a feeling of guilt. “Hey Dad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hypotheticals worked with GstringGirl...can they work on Dad? One way to find out...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Greg?” He turned back and looked at me, and for a moment all I could think of was the way GstringGirl had talked about therapists and support networks, and how Kalpin and Hobson had suggested that I talk to my parents. Looking at my Dad, just then, it was hard not to at least try and say </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> about the whole matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I ever…” I trailed off, then shook my head and started over. “Hypothetically, if I ever did end up with powers...what would you and Mom do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you-” Dad furrowed his brow, then looked down at his feet before looking back up at me. He stared at me for several seconds, an unreadable expression on his face, before letting out a yawn. He shook his head, smiled, and then chuckled. “Sorry, guess I’m more tired than I thought. How about we talk about this tomorrow, instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hah, yeah.” I faked a yawn, then moved towards my bed as he left. “Good night, Dad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night, Greg.” He shut the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t get in bed, though. I didn’t even sit on the bed. Instead, I took a deep breath and punched my pillow. I had been so close to just being honest with them, and ran away again!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I crossed the room almost at a run, opened my door, and stalked across the hall. I stood outside my parents’ closed door, and gathered my thoughts...gathered my courage...and then lifted my hand to knock. My heart was pounding, but I had to-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stopped, because I heard Dad say my name...and then froze in place as he kept talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-just asked me what I would do if he actually got powers.” Dad said, his voice easily carrying through the door. I knew Mom’s voice was a bit softer, and this was almost as good as talking to them, so I leaned in a bit and stayed quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This was just a preview, I’m not spying on them. I’m just being polite, testing the water. Yeah.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you say?” Mom replied, sounding confused. “Did you tell him that we’d love him no matter what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, that’s such a canned answer.” Dad was right, but it was still strange to hear him actually say it. “Besides, if I said something like that, then he’d feel even more motivated to keep burying himself in all that parahuman stuff. I thought we agreed that we wanted to start helping him find outside interests?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think I haven’t tried? I give him new books and recommend movies all the time, and I seem to recall I was the one who got him interested in filmmaking.” Mom moved a bit, and then sighed. “Sorry, I’m just so worried about him. He doesn’t have any friends, spends all his time on the computer, and now he’s getting so into this cape stuff that he ignores basic safety. I feel like such a terrible mother sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that!” Dad’s voice was louder than before, and then he quieted down. “Never say that, Sandra. We both know that Greg is different from George, and we love him for all the differences. Do I wish that he had interests that I could understand, that he had friends I can meet who aren’t just anonymous people online? Of course! But not understanding our son doesn’t make us bad parents. Loving him doesn’t mean we can’t be confused by him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does it mean, then? I’m just so...” Mom’s voice had a tone to it, and it took me a moment to realize she was crying. I had made my mother cry, without even being in the same room as her. “How can we get through this? He’s just going to drift further away, keep acting out to get attention...how are we supposed to deal with that when everything we’ve tried has failed?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We just keep trying new things, no matter what.” Dad’s voice was soft. I heard Mom’s crying taper off, heard her sniffle and blow her nose. She wasn’t usually someone who cried a lot, but she’d always had powerful emotions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’s always been such a force of nature. Mom was strong enough to get a black belt in Judo, and had the trophy to prove it. She was dangerous enough to get extra funding for her library when the county threatened to cut her budget, bringing in hundreds of protestors. She was unyielding at the grocery store when someone tried to steal the last container of crab dip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To hear her cry, and to know that it was my fault...it almost brought me to tears. Somehow, I held them back, and just let my nose run and my eyes water as I kept listening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t give up on him, no matter what.” Dad continued. “Sure things have changed since we were kids...but we need to be willing to accept that being a kid has changed as well. He’s still our kid, no matter what he likes, no matter how he dresses, no matter what powers he does or doesn’t have. We’ll support Greg, just like we did for George, and like both of them do for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a long minute when Dad just held Mom, and I heard her get up and run some water in their bathroom. I stood motionless, waiting until I’d heard the bedsprings creak again and the covers slide into place. Then she spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right. If what we’re doing now isn’t enough, then tomorrow we just need to try harder.” Mom had some of the steel back in her voice, and I found myself smiling. “I don’t care what he looks like, how he identifies, or how far he drifts away...I’ll always be here to love him and pull him back. First thing tomorrow, we’ll redouble our efforts to reach him. We’ll help him find a path that makes him happy, friends who will respect him, and we’ll do it as a family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn straight!” Dad said, and then let out a noise as Mom poked him. They both began to whisper, and I couldn’t make out most of what they were saying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was just about to head back to my room when I heard Dad chuckle, “Sorry, it was just such an inspirational speech. Reminded me of that time you told my Dad off for trying to light up a cigar after you gave birth to George. I thought he was going to leap out the window to escape!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I certainly had a way with that man!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you have a way with all men.” Dad murmured, and then shifted around. “Lucky for me, I’m the one who gets you all to himself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you want me all to yourself? How about this? Do you want this?” I heard a shifting noise, and furrowed my brow as I tried to figure out what-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten seconds later, I was back in my bed, trying desperately to forget the sound of my parents getting...</span>
  <em>
    <span>intimate</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I slipped on my headphones, annoyed that I didn’t have any music for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some nice music might have helped me get my mind off things, things like my parents having s-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, even worse. They just confirmed that they're going to spend the next week trying to "fix" me. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had always suspected it, seeing the way their eyes would always glaze over when I talked about my interests. I knew that I confused them, but to hear it from their own mouths was something else entirely. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How do I handle this? Do I just pretend to go along with their whole plan? Do I want to?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They were going to spend the next week giving it their all to make me into something I wasn’t, all under the guise of love and support. Meanwhile, I was trapped in the house for a week with powers I couldn’t use (unless a parahuman paid a visit) and with no computer or phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This next week was going to be hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>******************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: So, Greg’s parents love him more than he thought, even if he doesn’t know how to be honest with them. Surely Christmas is the best time for them to come together and...no? That’s not what happens? Well, how bad could it be? It’s just a week trapped in a house with the parents who are...desperate to...help you...oh.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. 1.11: Understanding Confrontation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Excerpt from Greg’s Journal:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They say that “familiarity breeds contempt.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I used to be head over heels in love with Time Travel. Books, movies, comics, fanfiction...really, any mention of it as a concept and I would be in at the ground floor. My eyes would drink it in like the finest wine, my brain would memorize it like the greatest works of our age, and my mouth would spout it like the praises of a higher power we were blessed to witness.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I think it was mainly because I grew up as such a nerd, and the idea of someone both creating and using an amazing bit of tech without needing powers was just incredible to me. It filled me with a certain amount of hope to see that even normal people could do amazing things, if they threw themselves entirely into a field of study. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But as the saying goes, familiarity breeds contempt. I eventually burned out on Time Travel, and to this day I just have no interest in it. More than that, when I see it in a movie or book, I can’t help but roll my eyes and prepare to be disappointed. No matter how much I want to love it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What does this have to do with this journal entry? Well, after my experience with the ABB I was grounded. I was forced to spend a week at home with parents who seemed dead-set on “fixing” me. After 6 days of this, even on Christmas Eve, I was about ready to break something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m not saying family can breed contempt, because I still love them no matter what. They may yell at me, punish me, be disappointed in me, and try to control me...but they’re my parents. I think that’s just part of the job, and I’ve come to expect and understand that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still, sometimes I feel like they’re trying to choke the life out of me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, Dec 24, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold still, Greg.” Dad ordered, his hands around my throat, as I struggled to breathe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ghrk.” I wisely suggested, trying not to move as my lungs slowly starved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I know, but this is really your own fault,” he admonished me, adjusting his grip. I heard the sound of cloth sliding on cloth, and noticed my vision was starting to go fuzzy around the edges. “I think I’ve just about…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gaah!” I gasped, falling back on his bed as suddenly my throat was freed, and Dad took a step back. I massaged my neck and took deep breaths of delicious air. “Dad, you nearly killed me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t paying attention to me. In his hands was a length of cord he had called a “tie,” but I now recognized as a fancy form of torture. It may have felt good on my skin, but despite following his directions (mostly), it had nearly been my end. All from just pulling too hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh, I’ll be honest son.” Dad claimed, holding up what looked like some sort of lazy-yet-stylish tentacle monster. “I have no idea how you did this. This isn’t even close to a half-windsor. I’m almost tempted to reverse-engineer it and send it in for a patent or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As a torture device, maybe.” I grumbled, getting to my feet and trudging to the door. “I’m going to my room to write my will, just in case you try something like this again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” He muttered, then suddenly jerked and ran for the door, leaning out to call down the hall before I could close my door. “Don’t forget, you promised to help me find that dead bulb so we can turn the lights back on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the sun goes down then we’ll be the only house on the block without lights, so I’ll be sure to come remind you.” He paused, then smiled a big fake smile. “I’m glad we’re getting to spend so much time together, son. This grounding has been a blessing in disguise, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shut my door without a reply, then crossed the room and flopped down hard on my bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This grounding has been exactly as terrible as I thought it would be. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Let’s start with Mom, who I was giving the most leeway because I’d driven her to tears fairly recently. She wasn’t just handing me a few books, oh no...she was actually sitting down with me and reading a copy alongside me. She’d picked up a bunch of books on depression, making friends, film history, Brockton Bay, and more...and after every few chapters she’d ask me questions and we’d have to talk about things. I was actually doing homework on my break!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, at least that was only words, because the rest of her tasks involved more cleaning than I’d ever done in my life. She’d forced me to clean my room top to bottom, taught me to do laundry, and had me doing all the dishwashing, scrubbing, and other chores she could think of. She’d even tried to teach me to cook, and the only reason that had stopped was because the neighbors told us that our smoke alarm was making their dog howl too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad got into the act whenever Mom needed a break from me. He got the idea from somewhere that physical labor built character. Every waking moment I wasn’t with Mom I was with him, moving things around and carrying heavy boxes out of the attic. Sometimes I thought he was just letting me struggle with them for fun, but eventually he’d come and lend me a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ll admit that the last part wasn’t so bad, since it led to the two of us decorating the house together. This was the first year Dad had let me actually climb on the roof to help, and even though a lot of the lights had burnt out, it had been really cool the way he trusted me. It actually felt kind of cool. Like it was just the two of us, up there alone and away from everyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...but it couldn’t last, because earlier this morning George had shown up, and it was back to the “George and Parents Show, with occasional Guest Star Greg.” Almost instantly they told me to get up to my room and get changed, while they greeted George. I’d stood at the top of the stairs, listening quietly as they begged him to be “nice to Greg” this week. Then they called me down for lunch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George was...cordial, if nothing else. I could tell he wanted to say something, but he kept glancing at our parents and then changing the subject whenever I tried to talk to him. Eventually I just gave up, and let the conversation flow on without me. Since I wasn’t joining in, George didn’t have to keep looking at our parents for the okay, and I barely paid attention to him as he talked about his job and relationship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For instance, apparently Melody had been invited to help her bosses at Medhall with setting up some kind of big event in Boston. When they asked what the event was, George called it the “Medhall White Christmas Spectacular.” I immediately stopped caring when he made sure to add that Melody wished us all a Merry Christmas…“even Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the meal (I did the dishes) I tried to talk to George again, but to no avail. He was cagey around me, spending all his time on the phone with Melody, and acting odd. Even as I walked back to my room massaging my throat, I waved at him. He smiled, started to say something, paused, and then sighed and walked away. It was really wearing me down, fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I lay in bed trying not to think about George’s odd behavior or my upcoming light sorting with Dad, I reflected on what had probably been the biggest annoyance of the last six days: my Powers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that the powers themselves were a problem, they were great. The annoying thing was my mind was practically overflowing with ideas, theories, and questions. I had a theory on why I hadn’t been able to copy two powers from Lung. I had a theory on how to control the personality bleed I’d gotten from Lung and Velocity. I had a theory on other powers I could test.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theory, theory, theory...and none of them were testable because I was trapped at home, away from parahumans, and being interrupted </span>
  <b>every five minutes</b>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had tried more than once to come up with an excuse to leave the house, even for a little bit, but nothing was working. Obviously meeting friends was out, since they’d want to talk to these friends, and I didn’t actually have any. But even inviting them to go with me was failing, like when I said that I had some last minute Christmas shopping to do. They’d just looked at each other, sighed, and said that spending the week with me was the real gift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every. Single. Time. After six days of it I was going </span>
  <em>
    <span>insane</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s a wonder I managed to doze off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I woke up...and things got </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, wake up buddy, it’s time for us to go fix those lights.” Dad’s hand shook me, and I awoke to see his smiling face. According to my clock it was 4pm. “Put on some warm clothes, we might be up there for a while. Needle in a haystack!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I followed his directions without complaint, putting on a hooded jacket, jeans, and boots with good grip. It was fairly warm for late December, but supposedly we were due for a big cold front. The sooner we found that light, the sooner I could go back inside, so I headed to the ladder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold up there, pal!” He waved at me to stop, and I looked at him in confusion...that turned to annoyance as George followed him out. “I was actually thinking we could all three of us do this. Your Mom is cooking up a nice dinner, and it’ll be a great way for us Veder men to bond!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several minutes later, I was realizing that I should have gone up the ladder while I had the chance. Now, rather than helping Dad with a boring job that had the minor added excitement of being on a roof while I did it...I was standing in place and holding a ladder. Dad was at the top, unhooking Christmas lights and handing them to George, and he was searching them one-by-one for the one that flickered a bit. Also, he still wasn’t talking to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In other words, this isn’t just boring...it’s also quietly and annoyingly boring.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even having George clear his throat every few seconds didn’t help. Seriously, get a cough drop!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I saw an opportunity to bring this bore-fest to an end, and even emerge as the hero in my own way. Dad had gone up on the roof, messing with the cluster of lights near the chimney, and George was mindlessly going over the same dozen or so lights over and over. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And over and over and over and over and...wait, what’s that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A light that flickered a bit before going out again. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Bad Light.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had no idea how George was missing it, though. He had passed over it several times, and when I looked at his face I saw him giving me a little smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have any of those lights gone bad, George?” Dad called down, letting out a little grunt as he tried to undo the metal wire he’d used up there days before. “If not, then this cluster’s our last chance before we have to start over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked at George, saw him meet my eyes, saw him look down again, and then heard him answer, “Still looking, Dad!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is he...is he messing with me? Has he been doing that this whole time?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My blood started to boil as I saw George look up at me again and then back down at the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you doing?” I whispered at George, pointing at the Bad Light. “Why aren’t you telling him about that? This is the second time we’ve been over this batch of lights!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to give you a win, just take it.” He motioned as if to hand me the lights, dropping a few bundles of wire and looking confused when I didn’t approach to take them. “Look, I remember what it’s like to have both Mom and Dad pressuring you, and being stuck with them while grounded. I just want to help you out, so take the lights and tell Dad already!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all, when have you ever been grounded, let alone punished by Mom and Dad?” I cut him off with a hiss and a wave of my hand. “Second...what, so you think I’m so desperate that I can’t succeed without you doing all the work? Forget this, I’m going back inside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annoyed, he moved towards me to try and hand me the bundle of lights. I guess he must have tripped on a loose cable, though, because suddenly the lights were on the ground and he was smashing into the ladder. I reached for him, but I was too slow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a loud crash, the ladder fell over and George landed on top of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boys? What’s going on? Everything okay?” Dad clomped along the rooftop, stopping at the edge and looking down at us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that exact moment, Mom burst out the front door with a towel over one shoulder and a worried expression on her face. I could hear the sink running from inside the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of them saw George lying on the fallen ladder, groaning in pain. They saw a bundle of Christmas lights on the ground. They saw me...standing there frozen, staring at my hands. Hands that were still stretched out, too slow to catch my brother…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt like the whole world stopped for a moment, like I wasn’t even breathing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, I can just calmly explain things. It worked with Kalpin and Hobson. As long as I just-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the shouting started, and I felt my breath catch in my throat. I’d never seen them so mad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, what did you do?” Dad shouted down, his face red and his eyes angry. “How could you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. I didn’t do it. Dad, you know I’d never do this. Don’t you?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“George! My baby!” Mom rushed out to George, gingerly reaching for him and trying to check him for injuries. He seemed okay, but as my foot scuffed on the pavement from me staggering back a bit, she whirled around with fire in her eyes. “Greg! What have you done?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I didn’t do anything. He tripped. I tried to help him. He was trying to help me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Mom.” George tried to get up, leaning on the fallen ladder and then shifting as his hand slipped on it. He made it to a crouch, and looked down to see that his hand was slick with blood from a sharp edge on the old ladder. “I was trying to help him and I tripped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is George taking my side? Why won’t they listen? Why do they still look so mad?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let us handle this, George.” Mom cut him off...then stepped between George and I. Her eyes searched my face, and both her hands came up in a defensive stance I recognized from her Judo days. “Greg, honey, just calm down okay? Use your words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you...are you defending him from me? Are you ready to fight me? My own mother?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, you can’t do this to family.” Dad said, and I couldn’t even look at him. “We have to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” George shouted, surprising Mom and Dad enough that they both turned to face him. He looked angry, but not at me for once. He glared at Dad and then turned to Mom, and stood shakily to his feet. “Greg didn’t do anything! I just tripped, that’s all. I had a lot of lights in my hands, and tripped on the cord. Stop blaming Greg for this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>George...even after all the shit I gave you, you still...love me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh George, you don’t need to make things up to defend your brother.” Mom said, looking back at me and moving slightly to the side. She was still blocking me from even getting to him. “We know that he has difficulties, and we’ll never be able to help him if you just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is too much. I’m done. I can’t take it. This is...hilarious, actually.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I started laughing, slowly at first and then much louder. It only lasted five or ten seconds, but by the time I was done I could see that all three of them had their eyes on me, and had gone silent. I started to turn away, thinking that maybe I could walk away, cool my head, let George explain-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I stopped, taking a deep breath and forcing myself to calm down. Screaming like Bellows had gotten me in trouble. Running away would have gotten Kalpin and Hobson killed. Leaving now would only prove them right. It would only prove that I was a scared, desperate child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had all these reasons why I felt bad around my parents, why being around George was so difficult, why I kept screwing up. I could only do so much to improve myself before I had to admit that I wasn’t the cause of all my problems. It was time to be honest, and confront them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m done </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>running</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. I’m done </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>hiding</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I locked my knees and turned back around, approaching and coming to a halt fifteen feet from Mom and George. I started talking...trying to keep my voice loud and steady. I tried to remember the confidence I’d felt with Lung’s powers. The bravery, the sense of justified confrontation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was going to have to come clean and face my problems head on. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I just never stopped to think that one of my problems was...</span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>my family</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is it that even when I’m actually not at fault, even when I have George on my side, you two still find a way to make this all about me being a broken, disappointing, useless child?” I shook my head and took a deep breath, then let it out. “I’m done. This isn’t all my fault. I can’t keep hoping it’ll get better when you keep doing this. I’m going to take a walk, let us all cool off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, you can’t just run-” Mom started to say something, but I didn’t care anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Mom. I’m not running from anything. I’m being honest, just like you wanted.” I shook my head and smiled sadly at her. My voice was calm, almost jovial, and I just felt years of pent-up annoyance pouring out of me as I addressed her. “For instance, you have to realize by now that throwing a bunch of books at me isn’t going to magically help me make friends or make me less of a social outcast. Books can’t fix everything, but it’s all you seem to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted-” She started to respond, but I was already looking at Dad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dad, you are a master class of mixed signals. If I fail you laugh it off and if I succeed you make a joke! No matter what, I always feel like some kind of family clown, like nothing I do matters. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Laughter </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>isn’t </em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>the best medicine...because it doesn’t make things </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>better</em>
  </b>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad stayed silent, and for that I thanked him because I needed a moment after that. I looked at George, and saw that he was leaning on Mom. His hand was slick with blood. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My fault</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George, I’m done. You can have them. You’ll always be seen as the smart, strong, brave kid and I’ll be the dumb, weak, cowardly failure.” I shrugged theatrically, then waved a hand at them all. “No matter how hard I try, you’ll always come out ahead. Even when you have my back, I’m still their favorite scapegoat. So...why should I even bother to stick around in your shadow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And with that, it’s time to let them think about things. Exit stage left. But before I go...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a happy family of a Mom, a Dad, and a son. I’ll just get out of your lives for a few hours, maybe do some Christmas shopping. Is that okay with you guys?” I waited a moment, then started to walk away. I felt so drained, I was sure I’d fall over if I didn’t keep moving. “Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg!” Dad shouted, and I turned back to see him standing on the roof staring at me. I felt a moment of fear when it looked like he was considering leaping off the roof. Mom and George were both motionless, looking up at him. In the end, though, Dad just sighed and said, “Greg...I know we might not always show it well, but we trust you, son. Just...make sure you come back, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course!” I gave a little hollow laugh, as though the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. “Couple of hours, tops. Mom’s making her sweet potato pie, and I’m still grounded anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With nothing else to say, I nodded and then walked away. Behind me, I heard them talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, I was trembling, but this was a good thing, right? For once, I hadn’t run away from my problems. I had finally stood up to my parents, gotten it all out there about how I felt. I had told them what was wrong, like an adult. I had kept calm, instead of screaming and crying like usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I handled that very well, I think. Now, no more thinking about it. Time to enjoy my freedom!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, I would go to the Boardwalk, where I didn’t have to think about families.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Boardwalk part of Brockton Bay held many shops, food stalls, souvenir stands, and even a small ice skating rink. Given that it was Christmas Eve, I figured that most people would be home with their families, and that I could brood in peace. Sure, it was unseasonably warm and the sun was still up, but most families would probably be home, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nope. Probably should have seen this coming.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There were at least a hundred people milling about, all of them filled with holly jolly spirit and talking about everything from presents to weather to peace on earth and goodwill towards others. Men, women, children, teenagers, and a variety of dogs. They mostly ignored me, even the dogs, because they had each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was just the broody kid sitting alone on a bench at the edge of the fun, doing my best not to think about how I’d just told off my parents and brother. I still felt like I was in the right, but my old enemies of Anxiety and Self-Doubt were starting to creep in like a pair of hungry vultures.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was staring around, watching other people have a merry Christmas and feeling my body slowly go numb despite the fairly warm weather...even as the sun slowly began to sink below the horizon. I was looking for anything, anything to take my mind off my problems...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I saw something interesting. Two interesting things, actually. Two people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two </span>
  <em>
    <span>parahumans</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of them was maybe a year older than me, or perhaps he just had a very mature look to him. Dark curly hair, nice clothes, and fine features. He was grinning at passersby and making faces at children, occasionally waving at people, leaning against a bench like he didn’t have a care in the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But after a few moments of looking at him I could see something else. I let the haze around him clear, and soon I could see the powers inside of him. Not campfires or birds this time, no. His powers were...snakes, maybe? There were two of them, but I was having trouble figuring out what they were supposed to represent. Or rather, how they related to him as a person, maybe?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had...a snake and two wooden crosses with strings attached to them. The strings looked odd, almost like tiny little shriveled snakes. It looked like they’d been pulled off of a marionette. They were covered in dust, and I wondered if that meant they were really old, or if he just hadn’t used them in a while. If this was a power related to puppetry (kinda lame), probably both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I heard a yelp, and realized that it had happened just a moment after he had waved at someone. More interesting was that it was just as the single snake in him flickered...like electricity? Wait, that was actually an </span>
  <em>
    <span>Electric Eel</span>
  </em>
  <span>. As I watched, the boy waved at a few more people, and each time he did the Eel would flicker and someone else would twitch or fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking away from him, I started focusing instead on his companion. She was taller than him, broader, had a square jaw, and wore a heavy hooded coat to counter his lighter and finer clothing. She looked like a bouncer from a biker bar standing next to someone who had been attending a fancy party.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what really interested me was her power. There was just one, and it was...strange. It looked like some kind of wolf, and just from looking at it I could almost hear a howling reverberating from it. There were a few dogs around the Boardwalk, and I noticed that the girl was looking at each of them in turn. With each one that she focused on I could feel the wolf power inside of her start to growl a little...and then the dog she was looking at almost seemed to grow </span>
  <em>
    <span>stronger</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I grinned. It looked like this day was turning good after all! While I wasn’t really interested in any of their three powers, there was something much better on my mind. It was time to experiment!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Finally, I can test my theories about grabbing </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>TWO</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> powers!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This had been gnawing at the edge of my brain all week. Back when I’d been fighting Lung, I had tried to copy two powers from him at once, and it had been incredibly painful. I knew that with his Healing in my core, taking his healing again just made the new copy fizzle out. At the same time, taking a different power from him just replaced the one in my core.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My theory was that, for whatever reason, I was unable to take two powers from the same parahuman. So here I was, my core empty and with two different parahumans in front of me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I leaned back, clenched my jaw (don’t want to bite through my tongue without a Heal power to fix it), and focused on the haze around both of them. It took a minute to figure out, but eventually I was able to </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> all three powers at once. Maybe it would get easier with practice? I carefully touched the Wolf power, then also the Electric Eel pow-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>….er. Huh, well, that’s certainly different. Also, pleasantly not painful.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As I pulled my mental hands back I could feel something held in them. It was a light pressure on my mind, like an itch at the back of my skull, but far more pleasant. I could almost rotate my mental hands around, looking at the power as if it was a physical object instead of imaginary.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m holding a power. I think this is the first time I’ve just...held one. It feels different...heavier. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This is new. It’s like I really did mash two powers together, somehow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm, I needed a good name for this. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, I was great at naming things (see Gun Guy, Knife Guy, and Bellows), so this would be a snap. Thanks to several years of using the thesaurus to improve otherwise simple reports in school, I knew many good words for...things. Ahem.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fusion made me think of anime and plasma guns. Alloy made me think of metal. Amalgam made me think of comic books. Combo sounded like a cheesy snack food. Compound made me think of fractures. Pool made me think of swimming. Marriage and Mingle were too much like romance. Speaking of, Bond sounded too kinky. Incorporate, Merge, Integrate...no, no, and no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hmmm, for now I would just call it a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Blend.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Never been a coffee guy, but I do like the smell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, the Blend looked like...a barking wolf with what seemed like glowing eyes. I set the power in my core, and started looking around the area for dogs to test it on...eventually spotting the last dog left. To say I was disappointed would be an understatement!  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was one of those tiny teacup dogs, and some woman was carrying it in her purse. I felt sorry for it, since she kept ignoring its little yapping noises to schmooze with people. For some reason that made me really mad, and I couldn’t stop myself from focusing on the dog to give it some help. It was as natural as just locking eyes, giving it a little nod, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pushing </span>
  </em>
  <span>the power into it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The yapping stopped, and it seemed to square its tiny shoulders. The woman, apparently surprised at the sudden silence, turned to look at the dog and make little baby noises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dog responded with a slightly louder </span>
  <em>
    <span>yap</span>
  </em>
  <span>...and the woman immediately fell to the ground as if she’d been struck by a baseball bat. Overjoyed, the dog leapt out of her purse and ran over a nearby trash can, eating a hotdog on the ground. I burst out laughing with everyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did I just empower a tiny dog to nerve-pinch a person? Why...am I enjoying this? Oh god! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling disgusted with myself, I released the power. I’d felt something almost like joy and aggression at seeing the woman get hurt, and after a moment the personalities associated with the powers’ owners fled my mind as well. I glanced back over at where the two had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Which of them was the sociopath who liked seeing people get...wait, where’d they go?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hell you been looking at?” A rough voice interrupted my thoughts, and I looked up to see the two parahumans standing right in front of me. The larger of the two had her clenched fist in my face, and I found myself speechless. “Been staring at us, shithead. Got a problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did that thing where all her knuckles popped all at once, and I swallowed loudly. No matter how cool it may look or sound in movies, it’s actually much less cool when the fist is potentially going to be used to pound your face in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait, was she...</span>
  <em>
    <span>growling </span>
  </em>
  <span>at me?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I sat there being growled at by a scruffy (but huge) girl with a dog-enhancing power, her chuckling friend beside her sporting a power that made people fall down, I realized who these two probably were. I was now 99% sure they were Hellhound and Regent, members of a relatively new team of parahuman criminals (The Undersiders) who specialized in clever plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It did not escape my notice that Hellhound (or Bitch, as she preferred to be called) was still holding a face-beating fist in my face. Despite that, I was still pretty happy for some reason. I mean, it was hard to be truly scared of a beatdown after the incredible fun I’d just had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not only did I get to meet some new parahumans (well, their powers anyway), but I’d finally discovered that I could BLEND (</span>
  <em>
    <span>the name’s growing on me</span>
  </em>
  <span>) powers as long as they came from </span>
  <em>
    <span>two different parahumans</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This made my options all the greater, and at the same time meant that I really needed to keep it up with my plans to improve myself as a person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, if I wasn’t someone who could make friends, no parahuman would want to work with me...and my powers kind of depended on being around other parahumans. I almost started grinning like a madman, as I realized that I already had connections in the PRT, and that would make my eventual debut all the better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kalpin and Hobson. I would eventually meet up with them again when I was ready for all the hero stuff, and maybe they’d even be willing to put in a good word for me with the Wards and others? In the meantime, I would work really hard to rebuild bridges and avoid making problems for the people who already liked me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>People like...um...people like...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor? The girl who tried to help me, despite hating me, and who I shat all over anyway? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe like my parents, who I just spent five minutes telling off before walking away?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, perhaps George, the brother who tried to help me tonight. Who got hurt because...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In that moment, all the giddiness just swept right out of me, like a cold breeze blowing across my soul. I wasn’t here because I’d wanted to be here. I was here because I had nowhere else to go. Even if I hadn’t necessarily run away, I still hadn’t come here by random chance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he was just unable to look away from my beautiful visage?” The boy said, his voice exactly as snide and smug as I had thought it would be. He glanced at the girl. “I mean, I guess he could also be into butch girls, but the last time a guy tried to hit on you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s ignoring us. Wonder if I can get that tiny dog to bite him? That would wake him up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Though I hate to be accused of following the rules, Brian specifically said to keep a low profile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a small dog. Bites probably wouldn’t kill him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had left because I had hurt my brother, told off my parents, and burned the last few bridges I had left. Despite talking with GstringGirl about support networks and trusting people to have my back, the only reason I’d been able to have fun tonight was because I had cracked under pressure and ruined what little support I had left... </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was so focused on my powers, these last few weeks, I never thought about anything else.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had destroyed my connections to my family, hurt them on a deep level, and all for this? All so I could hang out and play around with powers? What the hell was wrong with me?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt my eyes start to water as my face heated up. I looked down at the ground as I hiccuped. My mind started to race and I felt like the world was closing in on me. I was starting to panic.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do I even have a home to go back to? Mom and Dad were already mad at me, now George is-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh god! George! He needs his hands to be a doctor and got hurt trying to help me!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why the hell did I walk away? I should have stayed, talked, explained things better.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I broke down crying, as I realized just what I’d sacrificed...and what little I’d gained from it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d screwed everything up, and now I was all alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*******************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg’s had a rough night with his family, so maybe some uplifting advice from other teens with family problems would be...wait, who are those two again? Oh. Well, I’m sure he’ll figure something out. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edits 13Sept2020: Cleaned up a little, left hints that maybe things are more complex than they seem, and moved his breakdown to the end of this chapter, so we don’t have to start the next one with him being really happy...and then immediately burst into tears.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. 1.12: Understanding Myself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u"> Excerpt from Greg’s Journal: </span>
</p><p>
  <em> Not that long ago, I remember seeing an interview with Kid Win, where they were asking him about his process for making Tinkertech. He said that for him, it was all about knowing himself. Everyone seemed confused by that, so he smiled and explained that he was goal-oriented. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> He told them that instead of worrying about the journey, or how far away the goal was, he’d instead just focus on how amazing it would be to get there. How cool a finished design would be, how many people it would help, the evil it would stop, etc. This helped motivate him, and allowed the Tinker to ignore setbacks and failures...and to try again. He learned to recognize that nothing was ever truly done or a failure...just another step in the path to a different goal. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> On Christmas Eve, I realized that the discoveries I’d made about my powers weren’t worth the love, family, and opportunities I’d sacrificed to get there. I saw the trail of destruction I’d left in my wake as I focused on my goal of being a hero, and feared that I was doomed to be alone. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But that was because I was too blinded by my own self-pity to see all the good in my life, and too scared of another failure to try and fix things. What I needed was a friend, someone to tell me that I was wrong. Unfortunately, I thought that I was all out of friends. Bereft of allies. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Luckily, I had more allies than I knew, including one I’d known my whole life. </em>
</p><p>-GregV.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, Dec 24, 2010]</b>
</p><p>This was a Christmas Eve first for me...crying on a bench in front of two teenage supervillains. It wasn’t helped by the fact that both were practically ignoring me to make color commentary. </p><p>“Whoa, look what you did, Rachel! You’ve got him blubbering like a baby!”</p><p>“Not my fault.”</p><p>“Oh I’m not blaming you. Actually, I want to learn from you. Normally I have to at least<em> try </em> to make someone start crying. Please, teach me, oh wise master.”</p><p>“Bite me.”</p><p>“Is that part of the learning process? Because there is very little I won’t do with my mouth if it involves your bod-”</p><p>“I will tear your throat out.”</p><p>“Got it, so we’re both into kinky stuff. I knew I liked you for a reason.” </p><p>I heard both go quiet as another voice entered the fray.</p><p>“Okay, I got the order in for our repairs. Alec, you owe me for the extra satin it’ll take for her to make you a new set of...oh what the hell, you two?” The new voice was female, but I couldn’t even bring myself to look up at her. I just stared at the ground, covering my face with my hands.</p><p>
  <em> Don’t look. Seeing powers is fun, but I don’t deserve a reward for what I did. </em>
</p><p> “Are you tormenting some kid on Christmas Eve? Wow, Alec, this is a new low, even for you.”</p><p>“We don’t all bow to the will of a fat man in a red suit, Lisa.” Alex replied, scoffing at her. “Some of us prefer to worship at the feet of the Krampus. His costume is like...a hundred times better.”</p><p>
  <em> I don’t need this. Go away. I really wish everyone would just go away and leave me alone. </em>
</p><p>“Okay, you two go menace some elderly people, and I’ll fix this.” Lisa said, sounding tired. I heard feet shuffling, and what sounded like someone growling as they whispered amongst themselves. Finally, Lisa sighed. “Yes Rachel, I know I promised to help you pick out the perfect gifts for your dogs, but I just need fifteen minutes, okay?”</p><p>The other two walked away, and then there was someone sitting on the bench next to me. Lisa had apparently decided to stick around, probably to threaten me or something. I wiped some tears, glad that they made it impossible to see her...knowing she wanted something.</p><p><em> Don’t look at her. She probably has powers. Looking at them will only make things worse. </em> </p><p>“Wow, you don’t even want to look at me, huh?” Her voice was upbeat, but then it turned a bit sad as she sighed and leaned back, pulling her feet up onto the bench. She continued, “C’mon, talk to me, I promise I just want to help. It can't be as bad as you...oh, a fight with your family? On Christmas Eve? Shit...”</p><p>She went quiet, and after a minute I got fed up and tried to shoo her away.</p><p>“I don’t know how you even know about my family problems, but it’s not like telling you is going to help.” I wiped my eyes and nose, then pulled my hoodie up. Looking away was beginning to hurt my neck, and this way I still couldn’t see her. I had hoped it would convince her to go, but it seemed like her power was being super-annoying and persistent. “You can’t possibly know what it’s like to-”</p><p>“What?” She cut me off, a cold tone in her voice suddenly. “I can’t know what it’s like to have family problems? I can’t know what it’s like to want to talk to someone but not having anyone to talk to? Or I can’t know what it’s like to have powers? Because as you may have guessed by now, I know all kinds of things...Greg.”</p><p>
  <em> She knows my name? Is she recording this? I should just run away, before this gets worse... </em>
</p><p>“So what, I’m just supposed to talk to the psychic girl who wanders around helping teens with problems? What do you get out of this?” Given who the other two were, it was a pretty sure bet that this was another member of their group. They had appeared recently, but the Undersiders seemed to have a real talent for planning. “What’s the trick?”</p><p>“Maybe I’m doing this because it’s my last chance to get off Santa’s naughty list. Or it could be that I’m...70% sure I know what your powers are, and having you owe me for getting you back with your family would make it easier to recruit you someday.” She sighed, then lowered her voice and added, “It could even be that I was in your shoes not long ago, and don’t like to watch people make the same mistakes I did when their lives are considerably better. Take your pick.”</p><p>I grumbled to myself, weighing my options. </p><p>
  <em> Pluses: We’re in public, she claims to want to help, and can read my mind...so no social issues. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Big Minus: I recognize the voice from a video. This is indeed Tattletale, an Undersider. A villain. </em>
</p><p>“Fine.” I flipped back my hood, still pointedly not looking at her, but willing to at least try to be polite. “What do you want to talk about? Maybe the way my parents are disappointed in me, or the fact that they keep trying to <em> fix </em>me by just smothering me? Do you want the gory details about my golden big brother, or the way I have to lie about everything these days? Perhaps-”</p><p>“Nah, I got what I needed already, you’re practically an open book.” She laughed, but it wasn’t as mean as I’d expected. Instead, she actually sounded happy. “I think I can help you out.”</p><p>Unable to help myself, I turned and looked at her in disbelief. She was really pretty, around my age, and had blonde hair in a braid and green eyes. She winked at me and held out a hand.</p><p>“Hey, there you are. You already know, but I’m Lisa.” I numbly shook her hand, and she laughed again as I wiped at my face with my other sleeve. “So, how about we save your Christmas?”</p><p>***</p><p>One good thing that came from looking at Lisa was that I realized that I could avoid engaging my power to see her powers. This was a welcome relief, since I had been worrying for the past few days about how I would avoid unmasking capes if I ever met them in their civilian identities. I could still see a sort of light haze around her, but as long as I didn’t flip that little switch in my mind it was barely noticeable.</p><p>“So, let’s see if I can fix this for you with three questions. I’m gonna need you to be honest with me, and remember that if you lie I’ll just figure it out anyway.” Lisa wagged a finger at me, and I tried not to flinch. I knew that her powers were some kind of psychic thing, but for all I knew she could shoot mind-bullets at me. “So, first question, has your family ever forgiven you before for making big mistakes? Especially after you did something like tonight’s fiasco?”</p><p>“I mean, they’ve always said and done nice things for me in the past, but I always felt like they were just doing it because they were my parents, you know?” She didn’t reply, and I coughed before continuing. “I guess I always thought that they were forgiving me because punishing me was too much effort for no payoff, since I kept doing the same stuff over and over anyway.”</p><p>
  <em> Although, there were a few times that I avoided doing it because I knew I’d get in trouble. </em>
</p><p>“Cool, so their punishment in the past made you want to be better for them in the future. No matter how many times you messed up, they kept trying to teach you to be better.” She held up a finger, launching into her second question before I could challenge her (admittedly close to the truth) version of my answer. “What do you think they’re doing right now? What are they saying? What are they talking about with regards to you?”</p><p>“Mom’s cooking, to get her mind off things, or maybe looking for a book. Dad’s helping my brother with the hand he hurt trying to help me, and making dumb jokes. My brother...he’s probably explaining things.” She rolled a hand at me, and I sighed. “Fine! He’s telling them that it wasn’t my fault, and that they’ve been too hard on me. He’s...trying to take their minds off me and my screw-ups so that the family can-”</p><p>“Right, he’s acting like a big brother who cares about his little brother. Meanwhile, your Dad is trying to lighten the mood and your Mom is making a big meal for you when you come back...and maybe trying to find books to help your situation.” She talked quickly, and while what she said <em> sounded </em> true, it also seemed like she was being way too positive. “Third question, what will they do about this tomorrow? How about next week? Maybe ten years from now?”</p><p>“I mean, tomorrow I’ll get grounded for another week, next week they’ll make a bunch of rules to control me even more, and in ten years this’ll be a funny story Dad tells while we sit around and eat Christmas dinner.”</p><p>“So in other words, tomorrow they’ll punish you so you can maybe learn a lesson like you suggested back in Question One. Next week they’ll try to find ways to help you find structure and distract you from all this self-pity you’re feeling, like you said would happen in Question Two. Finally, ten years from now in a Christmas Yet to Come, this’ll be nothing more than a tale told over Christmas goose as you all sit together as a family.”</p><p>
  <em> Wait. The number three. Past, present, and future. Christmas Goose. Christmas Yet to Come... </em>
</p><p>“Hold on! Are you trying to Scrooge me?” I shot to my feet, and waved a hand at her. I started laughing at the absurdity of it all. “Did you just try to reenact A Christmas Carol...to make me see the error of my ways and have a Merry Christmas?”</p><p>Rather than denying it, Lisa looked...smug.</p><p>“Better question,” she asked, cocking an eyebrow and resting a hand on her hip. “Did it work? You seem to be back in the holiday spirit, at the very least.”</p><p>I paused, realizing that I was indeed laughing, and found it hard to stop smiling at her.</p><p>
  <em> Huh...well played, Lisa. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>A few minutes later, Lisa and I were sitting on the very same bench, drinking hot chocolate from a nearby booth as we chatted. She had claimed that she just wanted to make sure I was all right, but I was starting to get the feeling that she didn’t exactly have exciting evening plans.</p><p>“Nah, I just like talking to people for fun instead of because of business.” Lisa interrupted my thoughts, apparently guessing what I was thinking. “Besides, it’s fun talking to a brand-new parahuman. Not often I come across one who actually thinks they can take their time getting their life in order before jumping feet first into the new world they’ve gained access to.”</p><p>“What, so I’m some sort of rare, impressive creature?” I puffed out my chest a bit.</p><p>“Nah, more like overly-optimistic, naive, and shortsighted.” She ignored my hurt look, then patted me on the shoulder. “Sorry, but you have to realize that you’ve only got a week, maybe two weeks tops, before you either slip up or are forced to put on a mask and try to save the day. I mean, feel free to stack the deck as much as you want, but sooner or later you’ll have to play the game. You’ll go out on patrol, wander around, probably fight Lung-”</p><p>Lisa cut herself off, staring at me suddenly.</p><p>
  <em> Keep a straight face, Greg. Betray no thoughts. Sing the National Anthem if you have to. </em>
</p><p>Despite my attempts at mental self-manipulation, she suddenly burst out laughing. The laughter went on for several seconds, and she finally buried her face in her hands and wiped away some tears. After a deep breath, she whispered to herself, “So, that explains the warehouse. Also the mysterious ABB parahumans that were seen, and then never spotted again. Wow, Greg...”</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, just don’t tell anyone.” I crossed my arms, looking away as a hot flush spread over my face. “I know that’s your thing, but...really. It was a mistake and then just snowballed. Don’t go thinking that I’m going to start joining your team just because I cosplayed as a villain.”</p><p>“Eh, without some serious training I’m not sure we’d even want you. No offense, but you don’t really seem like you’d fit in.” She shook her head as I pretended to look affronted, then Lisa leaned in a bit and grinned. “I could give you this whole speech about cops and robbers, Unwritten Rules, and all this other stuff, but you seem to be unusually serious about trying to be a good guy, so I’ll spare you the spiel. Tonight can be the one night where I’m not trying to tempt you to the dark side, even if our Christmas cookies are better.”</p><p>“Well, thank goodness for Christmas Eve...bringing the villains, heroes, and newbies together for a night of peace.” I smiled back at her, then laughed as something occurred to me. “Kind of reminds me of the Christmas Truce, back in World War 1, when the British and German troops called off war for a day to celebrate Christmas.”</p><p>“Wasn’t that just an urban myth or something?” Her eyes closed for a moment, then she sighed and shook her head. “Nope, seems real enough. Huh, I guess maybe some things are just universal. Everyone needs a break, sometimes.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ve heard that the ABB doesn’t let their people commit crimes on the Chinese New Year, and I imagine that the Empire 88 is probably quiet today doing some kind of ‘White Christmas’ thing.” I paused for a moment, something sounding familiar about that. In the silence, I found myself thinking of George, wondering if he was okay...and how angry my parents probably were.</p><p>
  <em> As fun as this is, I still need to go home at some point. I still need to...clean up my mess. </em>
</p><p>“Hey, I thought we were through that already?” Lisa reached out and slapped my arm. She glared at me in mock anger. “Am I going to have to get Rachel to act out the Grinch for you? Her version of his dog, Zero, is the size of a small car!”</p><p>“No, I’ll be good, I guess I’m just worried about what I’m going to do...going forward I mean.” I shrugged, letting out a deep breath. “I can’t just keep lying forever, and even if my family’s nice to me this evening...it’ll only be a matter of time before the pressure builds up again for one of us and someone explodes again. Depending on what I’m using at that point…er, I mean...”</p><p>“Yeah, a literal explosion could be a problem.” Lisa seemed to catch my meaning, nicely ignoring my vague reference to the powers that she’d already claimed to be 70% aware of. She smirked, adding, “By the way, it’s more like 100% now, Copy Kid.”</p><p>I groaned, burying my face in my hands. There went any chance I had of-</p><p>“Oh relax, like we were just saying, it’s a Christmas Truce. Which is why I’m also going to help you out one last time before I head out. Let me put my mind to a good-hearted cause.” She crossed her arms, looking pensive and closing her eyes. She seemed to be thinking hard about something, then finally nodded to herself and looked at me. “Okay, I think I’ve got the solution to your problem.”</p><p>“Which one?”</p><p>“All of them from tonight.” Lisa grinned, then glanced around to make sure nobody was nearby before explaining. “Your problem is that you don’t get people, and you’re garbage at talking and lying. Seriously, I read all your problems off you in the first minute we were talking, and got your powers just from seeing you look at Rachel and Alec.”</p><p>“Great, thanks for identifying my problems. I’ll just add them to the list of impossible-”</p><p>“Shush, I wasn’t done.” She held up a hand menacingly, then continued when I made a zippering motion on my lips. “Better. So, your problem is that you need some sort of social upgrade, even for a few hours. Well, for one night only I can give you one...” </p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>“Normally I’d be worried about how quickly you accepted that, but I’m all out of hot chocolate and it’s getting cold.” Lisa gestured at herself as if inviting me to hug her. “Have at it.”</p><p>Nervously, glancing around to make sure nobody was watching, I focused on her power. I’d already seen the haze before, and it only took a moment for the power to form...which made me wonder if the conversation with her had anything to do with it. Eh, time for thought like those later, I had a power to copy! Except there was one little problem...</p><p>“Um.” I raised a hand, then put it down when she smiled and pretended to call on me. “Which power do I take? You have two of them.”</p><p>“What?” Lisa frowned, then looked at me as if I was playing a joke on her. “No, I just have one.”</p><p>“Nope, you have two individual powers. I’m pretty sure your theme is ‘lenses,’ if that helps.” </p><p>“That’s just…” She trailed off, then cocked her head as if someone was speaking to her and telling her she was the one off-script. Lisa grumbled, then squinted at me. “Describe them.”</p><p>“Well, the first one looks like a pair of glasses, except that the lens on the left has something like a dozen little attachments and extra lenses on it. The one on the right looks like there are a bunch of little words and numbers flashing over it...more now that you’re looking at me.” I glanced at her face, seeing her lips moving silently. As my description had gone on, the attachments had been shifting around and the right lens’ messages were increasing. “It’s kind of like a cross between a pair of high-tech glasses and a teleprompter.”</p><p>“Interesting. So, like it’s giving me information? What about the other one?”</p><p>“It looks like a telescope...but has the oddest little jewels and carvings on it. There’s a sort of big crystal at the end you’d put your eye, showing a hundred little pictures of whatever it’s pointed at...me in this case.” I see Lisa’s eyes on me. She must have been focusing her power on me now, because the crystal was glowing, each refraction and detail showing me something. “It’s like a...kaleidoscope? Every refraction is showing me, my past, and even things I remember wanting to do...like running away a few minutes ago.” </p><p>
  <em> So, the first power is feeding her info and hints. The other lets her read people and their intentions? </em>
</p><p>“Hey, that’s a trade secret, buddy!” Lisa slapped my chest, a look of annoyance on her face that I found it hard not to laugh at. “Anyway, you want the second one. The first one would just give you a bunch of random info and lead you down rabbit holes.”</p><p>“Thanks for everything.” I reached out with my mental hands and touched the kaleidoscope. “Oh, and Merry Christmas, Lisa.”</p><p>“No problem, Greg.” She replied, and just as the power settled into my core, she added, “By the way, now you owe me <b>two favors</b>.”</p><p>“Wait, wha-”</p><p>***</p><p>I snapped awake, nearly falling out of...bed?</p><p>I looked around and yes, I was indeed in bed. Fully dressed, for some reason. My clothes were nice, my stomach was full, and I could hear the sounds of both my Dad’s snore and George’s white noise machine. I carefully reached over to my nightstand and turned on my desk lamp, then pinched myself. </p><p>Nope, not a dream. But what had happened? Last I remembered I had been talking to Lisa. It had been maybe 7pm, and...nope, according to my alarm clock it was 3am. A lot of questions swirled through my mind, one after the other.</p><p>Where had the last 8 hours gone? How had I gotten home? Had Lisa’s power done something to me, like some sort of psychic link that let her control me or wipe my mind? How did they know where I lived? Was I about to be blackmailed? What was this envelope in my pocket?</p><p><em> Wait, go back one. Envelope. That’s at least something I can solve right now. </em> </p><p>It had my name written on it, and I nervously opened it as I sat at my desk for light.</p><p>It was only as I got through the first sentence that I realized something very strange.</p><p>
  <em> This letter is written...in my own handwriting. </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Dear Greg. I saved the day, and the family still loves you. You’re welcome.</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Wait, so did Lisa come to dinner with me? Does she have a friend who can erase memories? </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Also, no, I’m not Lisa. Do you really not know who has your handwriting? Seriously?</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Wait, I’m overthinking this. This is my handwriting, it was under my bed, so...is this me? </em>
</p><p>
  <b>By now you should have figured out who I am. Yep, I’m you. More on that later.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Greg, you messed up. Big time. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>You’ve spent the last week, and several years before that, lying to your family, treating them like crap, and nearly killing yourself. Why? </b>
</p><p><b>Out of some misplaced need to fix your own problems? Because you feel like you can’t trust your own plans, and so you’ve just thrown </b> <b> <em>plans as a whole</em> </b> <b> out the window? Because you have powers now, and think that means you’re suddenly more capable?</b></p><p>
  <em> That was taking it all way out of context! I was doing it that way because I...because... </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Don’t bother to answer. Not only am I not here, but I know the answer. You do, too.</b>
</p><p>
  <em> I got insanely lucky that I didn’t hurt anyone or get arrested, why’d it take me this long to see it? </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Anyway, let’s talk about how I fixed things with my mad talking skillz.</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Yep, this is me. 100% certain now. </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Mom accepted that she pushed too hard with books, and I apologized for not being more open with my feelings. I promised to talk with her more often, and told her I had trouble finding the right words. She said she’d find more specific books...so at least it’s a start.</b>
</p><p>On the other hand, getting books specifically tailored to my situation was actually a good thing. One of the reasons I used to get annoyed at Mom’s suggestions was because they were so general. Why hadn’t it ever occurred to me to ask an actual <em> Librarian </em> for books related to my problems? I mean, books are perfect, but at least they might have helped.</p><p>
  <b>Dad apologized for going overboard on the humor, saying that it had helped him so much growing up. I asked him to tell me more about that, and we agreed that maybe there were some cultural and social divides between our generations.</b>
</p><p>It sounded like I needed to talk to Dad more...and I honestly couldn’t remember when I had stopped. I think it might have been around the time I started getting bullied in middle school. I had come home feeling sad and alone, and he’d just tried to teach me some school-related jokes that I could “tell my friends.” I never stopped to consider that he was helping me the way he’d been helped as a kid...I just thought he was making fun of me.</p><p>
  <b>George is hiding a whole bunch of stuff I can’t even begin to understand. Whatever it is, he’s stressed like crazy and feels bad about being so standoffish. Work is killing him.</b>
</p><p>Yeah, I really needed to talk to George more. It wasn’t his fault he reacted so badly to my powers. With no proof, he’d just grasped at whatever straws he could and helped out a brother who admittedly had a habit of lying. Maybe I should’ve given him more credit for even trying?</p><p>
  <b>Finally, you’re not getting a grounding extension. Everyone got a pass on last night.</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Whew, so everything turned out okay, like a holiday movie on TV. My life is fixed, and- </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Don’t go thinking everything is fixed though. </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Or not. </em>
</p><p><b>I’m sure that if this was a book or movie, right now you’d be mad that I wasn’t telling you exactly what I said. Well, too bad. You made a mess of things, and if I just fixed everything then you’d have no reason to learn how to fix it yourself for </b> <b> <em>next time</em> </b> <b>.</b></p><p>
  <em> Next time? But the whole point of this was for Lisa’s power to fix things for me! </em>
</p><p>
  <b>This is all temporary. You need to make a real effort to rebuild your family’s trust in you. Powers aren’t going to do that, so maybe these next details will help you put them aside for a while and work on Greg instead of his powers.</b>
</p><p>
  <em> This would be a lot easier to deal with if I could remember last night. </em>
</p><p>
  <b>I’m sure you’re wondering by now, “Why don’t I remember any of this?” </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Well, remember how your body changed when you had Velocity’s power?</b>
</p><p>I shifted uncomfortably. Yeah, it was pretty hard to forget bone-growths appearing all over my body, blowing out my shoes and doing...something to my eyes. My joints had gotten all stiff, my organs felt stronger, and…</p><p>
  <b>I was too busy fixing your social life to get much done there, but I did go over your notes, and I’m pretty sure you’ve got some Changer in your Trump. That’s why the changes happened as you used the powers, and why they reverted after you dropped the powers. </b>
</p><p>That was something I had considered when comparing myself to Velocity. He didn’t have any bony growths or such because he had that Hummingbird in his body, intertwined with his Phoenix. The Hummingbird was a Breaker state, making him immune to the dangers! </p><p>
  <em> Still, it doesn’t explain why the power got stronger as I used it, or why the bone growths fell off. </em>
</p><p>I had been developing a theory about that, and this Changer thing actually supported it. Based on how I had used Lung’s power, I was pretty sure that my power had been making up for the lack of safety features that usually came with a power. It had been adapting...slowly. It sort of explained the strange feelings I had gotten when using the Healing Power.</p><p>When Lung had punched that warehouse wall, his Brute power had protected him from damage, and the Healing handled what little damage got through. Because I lacked that combo (and my copies seemed weaker than the originals), my power had been forced to boost my healing capability somehow. That warmth I felt whenever I’d healed was probably from the power using my nerves to map out my injuries, or my bloodstream to push healing cells through my body. </p><p>The sudden chill/numbness I’d felt when the power was released followed along with that. The odd feelings I got when releasing powers were my body’s way of reverting to my pre-power (and pre-streamlining) form. It took a while to build up, but it was a Changer effect.</p><p>
  <b>You kept falling from Velocity’s speed, so it made your inner ear and eyes different. You were damaging your joints and feet, so they got protection. Your organs were getting wrecked, so they got beefed up. It took time, and barely helped, but better than nothing.</b>
</p><p>That also explained why I’d hurt myself so bad escaping Knife Guy (full power speed for three blocks) but only picked up a few bruises at the hospital (small 1-second bursts of speed).</p><p>
  <b>Let’s move on to the real big deal, brains. Any loss of consciousness makes a power go away. That means sleeping, getting KO’d, and passing out from massive exhaustion after running across half of Brockton Bay... </b>
</p><p>
  <b>Try not to do that last one anymore, dumbass. Seriously, start jogging or something.</b>
</p><p>By this point I knew that this was another version of me, one with social powers and an asshole streak a mile wide, but the attitude was getting really annoying. Of course, that made me think about the personality changes, and sure enough...</p><p>
  <b>Speaking of personality, you already know that you get some personality bleed from the power’s original owner. Lisa was a smug know-it-all. Lung was brave and confrontational. Velocity craved movement and freedom. You get the idea.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Greg: Be more careful when taking powers!</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Seriously, there are some really bad people out there. Their powers could make us dangerous. Not only that, but if you blend two opposing personalities, or two really bad ones...or even someone who is unbalanced...yikes. We could be in serious trouble.</b>
</p><p>Okay, that was fair. I’d have to keep an eye on that, and probably <em> stop copying powers from villains </em>, or at least the really bad ones like Lung. I could have died against Lung and Gun Guy, all because Lung’s powers made me reckless.</p><p>The letter was nearing its end, but then I saw a line that got me really excited.</p><p>
  <b>Finally, the memory thing. Why can’t you remember writing this? Good question…</b>
</p><p>
  <em> And...the letter ends. That son of a...oh wait, there’s more on the back. Whew. </em>
</p><p><b>If my theory is right, then the reason I haven’t had any Thinker headaches is because our brain is Changing to compensate for them. To repeat: it’s literally </b> <b> <em>Changing </em> </b> <b>our </b> <b> <em>brain</em> </b> <b> to avoid damage. It all has to go somewhere...and I think I know where.</b></p><p>
  <b>I think that our power is funneling whatever normally causes the headaches somewhere else, because I’ve been having...memory issues all night. I think the power is trying to tell us something...maybe giving us a reason not to overuse powers or hold them too long?</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Maybe the powers want me to use more powers? To constantly be trying new ones? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Given that I lose the powers when I sleep, I’m probably not meant to have powers for too long.  </em>
</p><p>In fact, this was something I had been thinking about for a week now. The powers I copied were definitely weaker than the original ones, even after the Changing I was doing. At the same time, it only took me a few seconds to switch from one power to another. My end goal was to surround myself with other parahumans, so just finding one or two powers I liked and sticking to them was just silly. I had to experiment, to try new things, and...to Blend!</p><p>
  <em> In fact, is that why Blending works so well...because maybe it’s the point of my power? </em>
</p><p>It still needed a lot more testing, but seeing what had happened with Alec’s twitch power and Rachel’s Dog Power was making me wonder...were my Blends actually the intended use of my power? Like, was an ordinary copy weaker on purpose, because the point of my power was to mix <em> two </em>powers for some reason? If so...I really needed to work on my people skills.</p><p>
  <b>Theory: More Thinker power use = more memory problems and confusion. </b>
</p><p>
  <em> Huh, looks like I was keeping some sort of journal. Oh cool, it’s in military time.  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>1940: Got home after wishing Lisa a good night. Immediately got to work talking. Heavy, heavy power use over the period of an hour, but no noticeable issues.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>2100: Finished smoothing things over with parents and George, as well as starting a delicious meal. Started to worry because I hadn’t experienced any Thinker headaches.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>2117: Spent a full minute trying to find my fork, without realizing it was in my hand. Played it off as a joke to Dad. Used powers to ask him a question that would make him tell a story and remove the sudden worry all three were showing.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>2125: Forgot what I was talking about halfway through a sentence. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>2146: While getting dessert platter from the kitchen, I forgot whether I was going to or coming from the dinner table. In unrelated news, Mom’s Sweet Potato Pie is still divine.</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Heh, even with super-brain Thinker powers, I know that Mom’s pie can’t be beat. </em>
</p><p>
  <b>2203: While playing a party game, I realized that I couldn’t remember how I got home.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>2237: Halfway through talking to George about something, I had trouble remembering who Melody was. Used powers to play it off. I also noticed that I was full...despite being unable to remember having eaten any food in the last few hours. Panicked a little.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>2254: Came up to “go to bed.” Took a break to test a theory. Read comics for 2 hours, making sure to avoid engaging the power at all. The story was easy to follow, and fun.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>0150: By taking a 2 hour break from using powers, confusion vanished entirely. Threw myself into gathering the notes I’d been keeping all night, reviewed all our notes to figure out what you should do from here (next section), and started writing this letter.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>0240: ...unfortunately, as of the time of writing this letter, I am unable to recall much from after I copied the power from Lisa. I barely even remember sitting down to write this letter. If it weren’t for my notes, the events of tonight would be mostly unknown to me.</b>
</p><p>
  <em> I guess I’ll have to carry a notebook and pen from now on, in case I copy a Thinker/Tinker. </em>
</p><p>
  <b>On the plus side, I recall yesterday perfectly, so it seems like it’s just short-term memory.</b>
</p><p>
  <em> So there’s a limit. Maybe it’s a built in limitation on the power? Or maybe it’s my subconscious? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> This sounds like that theory I had a few days ago, when reading that book Mom gave me… </em>
</p><p>I had read a lot of Parahuman power theories over the years, and debated them with all sorts of people on PHO. Most people just assumed Thinker Headaches happened because the powers were working someone’s brain to its limit...like a computer or engine overheating.</p><p>Now I wondered if they were actually a way for the power to teach Thinkers their limits, so they’d learn to rest and ration. To make them step back and come at a problem from another angle, rather than just smashing against it over and over to get to the answer.</p><p>My powers seemed to work on a similar wavelength. They went away when I slept, changed my body a bit to make them work better, and required careful use to get the most out of them without their normal owner’s defense mechanisms. I had Triggered worrying about my passion and feeling abandoned due to my obsession...were my powers limited because I wanted to learn to tone things down? That even this Thinker Confusion thing was to teach me restraint?</p><p>
  <em> Question is, why do my powers think confusion and short term memory loss is better than pain? </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Based on this, here are a few handy tips for the future. By which I mean DO THEM:</b>
</p><p><b>First, talk to parahumans </b> <b> <em>before</em> </b> <b> copying them, and find out what they’re like to avoid personality problems. Personalities will affect you, but you can probably figure them out by actually interacting with their owners first. We’ve been lucky. Really, really lucky.</b></p><p>Yeah, that was true. Alec and Rachel combined had made me enjoy seeing that woman get hurt by a dog. I’d dropped the power, but if I hadn’t...I might have gone on to really hurt someone.</p><p><b>Second, think before taking powers. Just because something feels safe doesn’t mean it is, and the person using it could be throttling it for all you know. Alec’s power could have killed that woman, and outed you in a second. Not to mention that using a power around </b> <b> <em>civilians</em> </b> <b> with the original owner </b> <b> <em>eighty feet away</em> </b> <b> was incredibly boneheaded.</b></p><p>Obviously just using a power surrounded by people was bad, but maybe I could take one and then go somewhere safe? At the very least, I would have to be smarter about using them...</p><p>
  <b>Finally, don’t overdo it! Velocity at full power nearly killed us, but used carefully and slowly we barely got bruised. Using Lisa’s power all night has erased a few hours of memory and had me losing focus. Imagine how much good could have come from rationing it out! We’re going to have these powers for a long time...so go slow!</b>
</p><p>
  <em> He’s an asshole, but he’s right. I do need to be more careful. I need to slow down... </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Anyway, it’s nearly 3am. I’m going to get in bed and release the power. I did a lot for you tonight, so remember that you really owe me. Like, this was all me.</b>
</p><p>
  <em> Wow, even when he’s apologizing he has to brag about something. That’s me, all right. </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Stop and think, Greg. Learn from your mistakes. Do it soon...please.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Merry Xmas.</b>
</p><p>
  <b>-Kaleidoscope (Lisa’s power’s representation. Admit it, you’d have called me Brain Guy)</b>
</p><p>I read through the letter a few more times, then carefully put it back in the envelope. I’d have to hide it later, after recording it in my journal. There was a lot of good info in there, and I really had to hand it to Kaleidoscope (fine, yes, it was a good name) that he’d come through for me. As much as I hated his attitude, he was right that I had a lot to work on.</p><p>I had made a lot of mistakes. It was going to take real effort to fix them myself. I had to think.</p><p>
  <em> I think I’ve put this off long enough. The longer I wait, the more problems there will be. </em>
</p><p>So, I didn’t go to sleep. Instead, I was going to do something much more difficult. </p><p>I was going to think, and try to learn from my mistakes.</p><p>Right here, and right now.</p><p>**************</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Before we get to the informative and thoughtful epilogue to this story arc, we should try to squeeze in one more holiday tale. This next one involves a different trio of villains...in another fun Interlude!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Edited 13Sept2020: I realized that as hilariously fun as it was to have the 3 Undersiders act out A Christmas Carol (badly), there’s no way Lisa would trust Alec and Rachel to do it. Nah, she’d just handle it herself and move along. Girl’s got stuff to do! Finally, I moved the Kaleidoscope letter into this chapter, since it let me just have one 7k word chapter instead of a 4k and a 3k.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Interlude 4: People Are Complex Equations</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: Originally this was just a fun little side-story, but then one thing led to another and here we are. I think this was a pretty decent job, overall. Could have been a bit shorter, but it’s just so much fun to write these characters! Overall, I give this interlude a B+...</p><p>No, wait- *BOOM* </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Saturday, Dec 25, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Bakuda] </b>
</p><p>
  <span>I love math. It’s solid, dependable, and even the crazy parts eventually made sense. Like, the Poincare Conjecture seemed like a drug-fueled donut monster when I first heard it, but after a lot of study and more than a few sleepless nights I managed to get it. Now, I could talk about it in the same sentence as the Earth being round and it was just as normal to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s a joke, see, because the Conjecture involves spheres. Damn, I’m good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where was I? Ah yeah, normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normal, is pretty goddamn eye of the beholder these days. I’m a Tinker, see, one of the best on the planet, and what was normal for me a year ago has long since changed. But like I said, knowing about math means that I don’t get all bent out of shape on that. I just have to change my perspective, and realize that what I used to think of as “normal” wasn’t, and it all snaps into focus. Like a lens that was making things blurry, and now it’s crystal clear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normal is always changing, just like my knowledge of math and my understanding of other things. A year ago I’d have never thought that I could combine a gallon of paint, a grenade, and three Gameboys (the old kind, not that new Advance shit) to make a bomb capable of painting any entire room in half the time it would have taken to do it by hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as I stood there, freezing my goddamn face off (my fault for wearing a gas mask on a winter night) while two nerds cavorted around in costumes robbing people, I had trouble considering that this would ever be normal. I had a great view of their ‘crime spree’ from atop a parking garage, shoppers eagerly spending the last few hours of daylight returning the gifts they’d lovingly received for Christmas earlier this morning. We were all being entertained, but in different ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d always heard rumors about Uber and Leet, figuring that they were just sandbagging in their fights because they cared more about fame than anything else. Their little themed heists made chump change and the ads on their grade-school website were half what they could have gotten from just taking a grenade to an ATM. Still, the cops barely ever threw the book at them, cape heroes wrote them off as a joke, and they’d never even killed anyone to make a point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both had oversized boxing gloves that were bouncing anyone they punched away from them, but aside from a few bruises nobody was actually getting hurt. Leet was dressed in what looked like a retrofitted tan bomb suit that he was practically swimming in, a crown on his head and a big fake belly with a duct-tape X on the belly button. Uber was in a pair of green shorts, black shoes, a black tank top, and green gloves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The duo were hitting a small shopping center, running from store to store bopping people and grabbing their goods. They couldn’t really carry much with those gloves, so they were mostly tossing the goods to other people or putting them in a big pocket in Leet’s ever-growing belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I figured that their real problem was a lack of motivation. So, I decided to help them out...in my usual bombastic fashion. Actually, it was a grenade, but “grenade-tastic” doesn’t really roll off the tongue the same way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My contribution to this little event was a simple magnet grenade I had made. I actually had two of them, and threw the first at the little golden webcam they always had following them around. Aside from scrambling their ‘snitch,’ it also gave it a very unique magnetic charge. The other grenade went onto the top floor of the abandoned parking garage that had been closed off by the fire department weeks ago (thanks Lung!), and the snitch was pulled slowly in its direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had been watching them both from atop that very garage for several minutes, and calmly started walking towards the back stairs to wait. I knew both loved that little camera, and that any minute now they’d be jogging (or lumbering, in Leet’s case) up here to retrieve their tech.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Here they come.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> A voice in my ear alerted me that I’d been dead on.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “10 seconds to showtime.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have to hurry, dude!” Leet’s voice was unusually deep, and I gave credit to the suit he was wearing. He sounded a lot like the Hippo-named boxer he was playing, lending a bit more authenticity to his character. My respect for both went up a notch...and then immediately dropped when they leaned over to get the snitch and bonked their heads together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t stop myself from laughing, and as both whipped their now-sore heads in my direction, I shrugged and came out from my ‘hiding’ spot. I tried to look as imposing as my five-foot nothing frame allowed, spreading my legs and shoulders a bit as my makeshift grenade launcher (v34.12, now with voice activated launching!) swung to point just a few feet to their left. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing like a casual barrel-sweep to remind people that you have a weapon pointed near them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the hell are you? A fan who liked our </span>
  <em>
    <span>Team Fortress 2</span>
  </em>
  <span> video?” Leet spoke before his friend could, laughing and gesturing at my getup. “We have to get going soon, but I can sign your mask if you want. Who should I make it out to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leet, I don’t think this is a fan.” Uber started to interrupt, and I could see enough of his face (flesh-colored mask over his eyes and scalp, giving the impression that he actually had that spike black hair) to know that his jaw was clenched. “I think she’s actually-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uber, you always tell me I shouldn’t be gatekeeping girls out of gaming, I really don’t think that’s a healthy attitude for you to have.” Leet playfully slapped at his friend’s chest, apparently not realizing that he still had his boxing glove’s bounce field active. Uber went flying, hitting the ground a few feet away and rolling backwards to a crouch. “Whoops, sorry about that, bro. Anyway, miss, what do you think of today’s crime adventure? Perfect timing and costumes, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the costumes are good, I’ll give you that.” My voice was a bit altered by the simple chip I’d stolen from a discarded toy mask in a Goodwill last week, and it didn’t change his expression at all. I could practically hear my little brother, the one who actually had time to play video games growing up, whispering in my ear that they were play-acting as characters from </span>
  <em>
    <span>Punch Out</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “The costumes and Tinker-tech get a 10, but the timing only gets an 8...Boxing Day is tomorrow. You made your fuse too short, blew a bit too early.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, dang it, I was going to wait until tomorrow, but PHO was saying that New Wave and the Wards were going out on the town tomorrow for some joint event, and I didn’t want to worry about that whole mess.” Leet sighed, looking over at his erstwhile companion, who had rejoined him and was standing in what looked like a casual defensive stance. I’d heard that the guy had more than a bit of fighting experience, and tried not to put my finger on the trigger as I saw his eyes go in that direction. He elbowed Leet. “Anyway, I’d love to talk more, but we have some work to do, so unless there’s anything else…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, there is something else. Something important. Something grand...” I started to step forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crap, okay look.” Uber held up a hand...well, boxing glove. “If this is about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Grand Theft Auto</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing, then let me just say that it was early in our careers as super-provocateurs and we went too far. We fucked up, I know. We apologized in-person to all three of the women we hurt, covered their medical bills, paid for their therapy, and even did a PSA about...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t about that.” As much as it pained me to do it, this was my best chance at making my plans come to fruition...so I took my hand off the grenade launcher and held it out in their general direction. I mean, it was still voice activated, but they didn’t need to know that. “I’ve been scoping out the major players in this town, and none of them really blew me away. You guys, though, you really pop. You’ve been burning hot for months, and I think that we-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Take it down a notch with the bomb terminology,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> a voice said in my ear, and I grimaced.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait. That mask, that grenade launcher, the random bomb terms every few sentences,” Uber’s tone made me flinch a bit. The warning had come too late, it sounded like he had figured out who I was by my habit of using certain terms when I was nervous. It calmed me down, and I never even realized I was doing it. “Everything else lines up...you’re Bakuda. You’re the nutjob bomb tinker who tried to blow up a college because-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leet’s glove lashed out again, and bumped Uber. The man went flying again, and this time he flew twice as far before rolling again. He leveled a glare at Leet, but the big (because of his armor/suit) Tinker didn’t even notice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoops, my arm slipped.” Leet didn’t sound sorry at all. “I’m kind of immature like that. Next thing you know I’ll start verbally abusing someone with a history of questionable decisions who lured us to the top of an abandoned parking lot and currently has a grenade launcher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s two, Hippo.” Uber rubbed the butt he’d landed on, returning to his friend and standing just outside of Leet’s reach. “Do it again and Little Mac is gonna have to TKO you, got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No prob, Mac.” Leet shared a grin with his friend, as if all was forgiven and turned back to face me. “But seriously, why are you here? Cut to the chase. We’ve got things to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Simply put? I want you two to join my crew. You have talent, I have pure destructive power, and I think we could work well together...better than with any other gangs.” I started counting off my fingers, less to keep track and more to keep them from worrying so much about the grenade launcher pointed in their general direction. “I don’t do drugs, and you two have done enough Capcom games that I know you know that ‘Winners Don’t Do Drugs.’ Lung blew up one of his own warehouses last week and as Tinkers we know better than to be around anyone that unstable...and that’s coming from a bomb tinker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of us had a laugh over that one, even if Uber’s still sounded a bit forced. I continued, “Finally, I’m too Asian for the E88, and after that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wolfenstein </span>
  </em>
  <span>robbery where you ‘accidentally’ burned one of Hitler’s original paintings I doubt they love you much either. We need to band together, and I want you to join me so we can protect each other. Together, we could be explosively effective.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m with you on a lot of that, but you said ‘my’ crew, and that makes me wonder why you think you’d be the leader?” Leet started to count off his own fingers, realized he just had a huge pair of boxing gloves, and then sighed and just listed points. “We already make decent income from our site, have a huge fanbase, and the PRT barely even tries to stop us. Joining you would make them take us seriously, and we might even lose a lot of subscribers because of your...y’know...past.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a no from me, Bakuda.” Uber was less circumspect, and crossed his arms. It wasn’t easy to do with boxing gloves, but he’d actually turned off his bouncers, so he managed. His mouth was set in a firm line, and he didn’t even look at Leet. “We don’t care for bullies, and I can’t think of a better example than the one in front of me. You got a bad grade and tried to bully your professor into fixing it. You got in trouble and tried to bully Cornell University into forgiving you. Now you’re here, trying to bully us into working for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, it’s just that cut and dry, huh? All your cannons are in a row?” I held my hands out to the side, ignoring their quizzical expressions as the code phrase I’d programmed into my grenade launcher made it swing in their direction, focusing on Uber since he’d talked last. A few specific words, and it would launch a freeze grenade at him. “If I’m a bully, then why aren’t you two gamer nerds just falling in line for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Take it down a notch,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> repeated the voice in my ear, but I ignored it. I was getting heated up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because back when we were kids, I used to get beat up all the time.” Leet started to explain, his voice oddly quiet. It took me a few seconds to realize that he’d turned off his voice changer, and I had to strain to hear him until he slowly got louder. “Uber would always protect me, but I started to feel bad about always getting him hurt. He had so many friends and clubs, but always found time for me. I finally told him one day that he should just leave me to the bullies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told him to go fuck himself, that I’d rather bully him myself than let them lay a finger on him.” Uber smiled, and for a moment it was like listening to my friends in college banter...and not to super-nerds in tinker gear who had just spent the evening stealing thousands of dollars of electronics. “So I decided that I would teach him something, so that even if I wasn’t around he’d be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you taught him to fight?” The confusion was pretty clear in my voice. Their capers usually had Leet in either a mobile suit with ranged attacks or a shielded suit like this one, because even the 12-year-old Ward Vista could beat him up...without her powers. It was actually a bit sad, and I’d always wondered if he was just sandbagging for humor. “I...don’t see it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I could never fight as well as Uber, even before he got powers he was a beast. Meanwhile, I make scarecrows look buff by comparison.” Leet’s goofy grin took some of the sting out of his words, but I could still see his friend’s smile fade at that. “No, he taught me to be confident, and it motivated me to get into art and writing. It was hard at first, but pretty soon I could take just about anything that came my way without getting down on myself for failing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, and believe me we’ve faced a lot of bullies and jerks in our time. But with each encounter we got stronger, and never let anything keep us down for long.” Uber threw an arm around his friend and the other boy bopped him a few times with his (thankfully depowered) boxing glove. Both started laughing, and their one-arm hug broke up as they stood tall to face my grenade launcher (which was still pointed at them) with conviction on their faces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah! It doesn’t matter if it’s a spiky-haired teenager with explosive sweat, an overweight cousin whose family forces me to live in a cupboard under the stairs, a bossy little girl who pulls the football away when I go to kick it, a six-year old who torments me in ways that my stuffed tiger can’t help me overcome…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those all sound like oddly-specific and probably fictional situations.” I commented, and that only made them laugh harder. I rolled my eyes, and waved a hand, motioning for them to get to the point. “So what you’re saying is that since I’m a bully and you’re confident, you want to stand up to me to prove a point? Even with this grenade launcher pointed at you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Both nodded, and Uber’s smile grew so much I wondered if his entire face was a Tinkertech mask of some kind. He pointed a glove at me. “You lived a perfect life of happiness and success, then had one bad day when you got a B+ and went nuts. No offense, but that’s nothing like the kind of crap we’ve dealt with our whole lives. You’ve never had to face bullies. You’ve never had to deal with people who do terrible shit just because they’re petty, ignorant, self-righteous, small-minded pieces of sh-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Then]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Professor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Professor Bao pointedly ignored me as I continued to wave my hand in the air, choosing instead to walk around the room handing back our midterms. The other students had no problem looking or glaring at me, but since I had the top grade in the class (despite being a year younger than them) their opinions didn’t matter to me one bit. I was destined for greatness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question I had for the old man, as it had been every class, was whether or not word had come back on my entry in the Millennium Prize Math Problems contest. It had been a long shot, but my family had barely been able to afford to send me here to Cornell...and with the winnings (a million dollars!) I could pay them back and then some. Heck, I might even be able to move them to a better part of town, or send my siblings to college!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d spent months working on it, but I was pretty sure (95% sure, at least) that I had a proof of the Poincare Conjecture that would pass any scrutiny. I’d handed it off to Professor Bao almost a month ago, along with my letter of explanation and other information. He’d promised to send it immediately, and I had thanked him profusely for helping my mathematics dream come true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But since that day, he’d grown more and more shrewd when it came to talking to me, often even making appointments with me and then skipping them. I was pretty sure that he was just overworked, and so I’d tried to help him out by pointing out mistakes he was making on the various quizzes and tests he’d been giving us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For instance, the one that he slapped on my desk, pulling me from my thoughts, had a note on it asking me to please stop doing so...and a B+? How? I hurriedly flipped through it, and found that he’d mistaken my explanation of bicontinuous functions to be a mere continuous inverse function (ignoring the note I had that pointed out the rest of that proof on the back of the page).  I quickly jumped to my feet, running out of the classroom and to his office.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still there, apparently caught up in what seemed like a happy phone call with someone, and immediately disconnected the call as I entered the room. Knowing I wasn’t one of his favorite people, I put on my most careful smile and radiant expression. The other students who were milling around the hallway stopped to watch, knowing that the two of us were prone to...spirited discussions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the audience and my smile, he was not happy to see me. Further adding to my embarrassment, he loudly proclaimed that all grades were final while pointing at the sign (with those words in multiple languages) over his left shoulder. He then told me to get out, and started to get up and shoo me out of his office. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took a moment to formulate a nicer way (than usual) to point out his error, but froze as I saw a brand new addition to the wall of certificates and diplomas that covered his wall. It hadn’t been there yesterday, and the shining glass frame almost seemed to taunt me as the man got nervous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, while that might be only my name on there despite using some of your work-” He started whispering, but I wasn’t listening...I was just staring. I ignored him as he put his arm on my shoulder and tried to pull me away from his door, closing it with one foot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a certificate from the Clay Mathematics Institute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-besides, nobody would even believe you if you tried to expose me, so you should just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Awarded to Professor Bao, working alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-can give you straight A’s all year if you just keep this a secret from-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> proof on the Poincare Conjecture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-even fix that B+ right now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...for a moment, the only math I cared about was the amount of force that my hands could apply to his throat. The other students interrupted me, so I never found out the answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As I said, Dean, I think the poor girl was just overworked and the stress got to her.” Bao’s voice echoed out of the Dean’s office. I would have been closer, but a campus security guard had sat me down in a folding chair just outside the office, and refused to let me enter and defend myself. I had spent the night in their jail cell (practically a locked closet), and during that time things had gotten worse. “But now that all these other details are coming out, we may not have a choice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Other details, in this case, being the fact that shortly after I’d been nabbed by campus security, a legion of students had gone on social media and spread lies about my ‘cutthroat nature,’ my made-up drug habits, and one was even claiming that I had talked about bombing the school. Of course, none of them had any proof, but local news had picked it up and it was spreading like wildfire. My hopes that the truth would prevail were starting to burn away in that wildfire... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, Bao. If she did this over a B+, and even half of these rumors are true, then we can’t take the risk.” He sighed, and then started printing something before calling out, “Bring her in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The security guard grabbed me by the arm, roughly dragging me in despite my protestations that I could walk. Only as we entered and the Dean gave him a nod did he let me go, but still kept an eye on me and a hand on his taser. I started to defend myself, but saw how the Dean refused to make eye contact and knew that the battle was already lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just stared ahead as the Dean told me that he was very sorry, but they were going to have to expel me. That all my credits could be transferred, but no school would be likely to take me for some time. That I should really seek mental help for my anger issues, and that attacking Bao over a B+ could have saved me from a life in prison...and that I should be thankful to the man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Bao just grinned at me and then schooled his face into sadness when the Dean looked at him. This was the man I was supposed to be thankful to?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man who had stolen </span>
  <b>MY</b>
  <span> work? My </span>
  <b>MATH</b>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p>
  <b>MY FUTURE?!</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like an explosion in my head. All the anxiety and fear I’d felt all month, combined with the need to make my parents proud, added to my incredible need for perfection because they’d sacrificed </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much for me</span>
  </em>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turned and ran, a headache like I’d never felt spiking so hard that I was seeing double for a moment. The security guard let out a little squawk and tried to chase me, but with adrenaline, fear, and anger roiling in me I was faster than anyone else in that moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I made it out of the building and just kept running. I was afraid to stop, and before I knew it I was at the edge of campus and all alone. I was completely alone now, no family or friends or...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By then the pain had gotten so bad that my vision went dark, and it was only the feeling of leaves and branches in my face that told me I was running through one of the stupid decorative hedges the Dean loved so much. I tripped, I fell, and I just...gave up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ran out of steam, fighting to escape, and finally broke down into the ugliest cry I’d ever had. I’d lost everything, had it all taken away from me, and now I was going to have to tell my family...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>PAIN</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt like I was dying, like my brain was exploding, and then everything went dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I woke up, the pain was gone. The light was also gone, and night had fallen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But none of that really mattered to me, because I was staring at a television on sale in the little electronics store just a few hundred feet away. On it, Bao was being interviewed by the local news about me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I knew it was about me, because he was lying and they were believing him. From the subtitles, I could see him claiming that I was dangerously unstable, and police nodding appreciatively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I didn’t care about that, because I was looking at the </span>
  <em>
    <span>television</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five minutes later, I was looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside </span>
  </em>
  <span>the television, having removed the glass window with the simple application of a brick. The store owner tried to stop me, but all it took to get rid of him was the mere threat of a brick. He said he was calling the police, but I’d snatched the phone from his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I needed that phone more than him. I used it to call Bao, warn him to come clean </span>
  <em>
    <span>or else</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I took the phone apart. Also the TV. Also...well, I’d suddenly had an idea...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had occurred to me that there were other ways to change the world besides just math.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ways to solve problems. Ways to get back at Bao. Ways to make my mark on the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In my case, all the best ways also went BOOM.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>*</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, as Bao spread lies about me to the media, claiming that I had planted bombs all over the campus, I was hiding in an alley with parts stolen from the electronics shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the news raved about the Protectorate coming in and being unable to find the bombs planted by a new villain cape called Bakuda (nice name, that), I was marveling at an inventive new device I had crafted. It combined six alarm clocks, three smoke detectors, and a microwave to create an effect that split things into equal-sized pieces. It also made a very loud bang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I left town, I made sure to toss it inside Professor Bao’s apartment window. He had just long enough to read the note (“What’s the radius of a circle?”) before it went off, and divided him into 314 equally-sized pieces. Get it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m sure Bao would be laughing too, if he weren’t a thieving bully who got killed by karma. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, karma and my Pi Bomb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Now]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“-it, whose entire goal is to stomp on you because it makes them feel bigger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“They’re right, Boss. Also they’re on a roll.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> I frowned under my mask, but as if he could see me he added. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Even if you don’t agree, you should at least apologize.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, I am being a bully. Sorry!” My raised hand, bowed head, and sudden words stopped their rant in its tracks, and I sighed. I gave the grenade launcher two slaps, disarming the auto-target system. I took a deep breath, and tried again. “I screwed this up by coming in hot, thinking I had to take what I wanted. I’m too used to dealing with...terrible people. Sorry, I’ve just been dealing with a lot of shit lately. What I want…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What I wanted was my family back, but they’d practically disowned me after I killed Bao. In the moment it had seemed like the right thing to do...but I was still a murderer now. I’d stolen, hurt people, and caused a lot of panic since then. I hadn’t killed anyone else, but that was more by luck than actual effort.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What I want are people I can trust. Friends. A family. Someone to have my back.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But how was I ever going to have friends or a family again, after what I’d done? I was just a-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Challenge them to a contest.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The voice whispered in my ear. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>They’re gamers. They’ll love it.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What I want...is a contest.” I repeated the words slowly, and the idea began to form as I continued. Seeing them glance at each other and not hearing an outright refusal, I continued. “We meet in 2 weeks, in front of your hideout, and my best bombs take on your best costumes. We each get to show off our best, you get money for your channel, and then-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, we beat you for our channel and you go away forever?” Uber interrupted me, his eyes still on my grenade launcher. He traded a quick glance with Leet, who just shrugged unhelpfully. “If you win, not that you will, are we just supposed to become your slaves? Sounds like a pretty stupid deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, if I win then we team up, but as a three-person crew.” I ground my teeth for a moment, hating to give up on my plan, and I finally clenched a fist as I continued. “No leader, just three confident people who the other big gangs in the city don’t want to mess with. It keeps me safe from the nazis, junkies, and rage dragon...and keeps you two protected in case the PRT ever decides to come after you for that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Earthbound</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing you did last month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, we warned everyone a full week in advance that it was called the </span>
  <b>Pencil Eraser</b>
  <span>!” Leet whined, stomping his foot petulantly as Uber patted him on the back. “They had plenty of time to get ready for it. It was their own fault for not taking me seriously when I made a device that destroyed all the pencils in a 1-mile radius. Heck, Arcadia loved us for giving them the day off from school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know dude, I know.” Uber sighed, shaking his head and turning towards me. He carefully crossed the short distance between us and, after a glance back to get a nod from the still-sulking Leet, reached out to shake my hand. “Anyway, I think we accept. Our awesome gear and Tinkertech versus your little firecrackers, winner chooses where we go from there. We’d offer to send you the location, but from the way you’re talking you probably already know where it is. You seem like the sort of person who likes to do her research.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can I say, I like to be prepared. Oh, speaking of which...” I turned and started walking away, removing a small remote control from my pocket as I did so. I very pointedly pressed a large button on top of it, smiling as I heard them both dive to the ground. The button didn’t actually do anything, but it felt good to keep them on their toes. “Just figured I’d disarm that before going. See you in two weeks, kids.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re gonna have to pull out all the stops on this one, dude. That lady’s scary as hell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But also kind of a hot badass, y’know?” Leet replied in a voice that had me wondering if he was looking at my butt. I heard a thumping noise, and glanced back to see that Uber had bounced the big Tinker with his boxing glove, and the two were laughing and bopping each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing them fool around like that made me happier than I’d like to admit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Seems like that worked out better than we planned. Good thing we went with my suggestion after all, eh?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The voice came in my ear again, and as I rounded the corner into an alley I groaned and popped the radio out. I slipped the device into a pocket, then started to take the grenade launcher apart. By the time it was in pieces and safely stashed in my coat, I had been joined by my new bodyguard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was nothing impressive physically, only a few inches taller than me and wearing heavy clothing to protect from the cold. But most people still might have given him a second look when they noticed the way his right arm was a bit bulkier than his left, or that one hand was metal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that and the way he’d joined me by leaping down into the alley from several stories above, the sound of straining metal wire the only noise to be heard. Landing as light as a feather, he gestured and the hook that was stuck in the roof above clicked out of place and allowed the thin cable to wind back up into his elbow housing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Arm still working okay?” I asked, gesturing for him to hold it out so I could check it over. He rolled his eyes, but let me check my rudimentary work and make sure that neither the grappling gun nor the bomb-launcher had taken any damage from his rough treatment. “How was the sniper scope, by the way? I haven’t made any bomb-bullets yet, but the scope is-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know, Boss. It was good. It let me keep an eye on ya, and the grappling hook is a lot smoother now.” He took the arm back, clicking it through both the grapple mode and gun mode before returning it to a normal (if metal) arm. “Anyway, we better get back to da hideout. My ABB contacts say we got about an hour window til they patrol dis area again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it.” With that, the two of us began to head back to the crappy apartment workshop I’d set up shop in. As we walked, I bounced ideas off of him for weapons I could make, since my opponents were apparently going to bring their A-Game. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe a bomb that puts people to sleep?” I asked, my Tinker mind already dancing with new possibilities. “I’ve heard about a Case 53 in town who can give people temporary drug trips and knock them out with his sweat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I was about ta say, maybe if ya wanted teammates ya don’t start off by meltin’ their bodies or nothing.” He grinned, and I found myself rolling my eyes and laughing. He said that he’d only started using the Brooklyn accent to stand out when he was in the ABB, but now it was hard for him to remember not to fake it. “Yeah, I’ll pay a visit to that nightclub he hangs out at, see if I can get some samples so ya can make a Drug Trip Grenade?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keep working this hard, and someday I’ll be working for you.” I joked, but he just chuckled and shook his head at me. We arrived at the apartment and he stepped inside, checking it and disarming my traps. “I can at least give you a raise, if you help me knock over an ATM…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I don’t need none of that, Boss.” He returned to the door and held it open, giving me a fake bow. “I’m perfectly happy being your bodyguard, test subject, and Gun Guy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...we’ve got to come up with a better codename for you than Gun Guy.” I entered and took off my mask, glaring at him a little as he laughed and followed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had told me he didn’t remember much from the day he’d been hurt, losing his arm and nearly dying in a warehouse explosion visible from a mile away. All his memory gave him were bits and pieces. Lung getting mad at him and crushing his gun, an alarm going off, Lung throwing fire and roaring, him shooting, and then finally an explosion that nearly killed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Also, someone whose face he couldn’t recall, who kept calling him ‘Gun Guy’ over and over. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously, there have to be better name options.” I tried talking to him again, but he just shrugged it off and started heating up some of the leftovers he’d made the night before. Even with a new arm, he was an excellent cook. “You shouldn’t have to use a nickname whose creator you don’t even remember!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno about dat, Boss.” Gun Guy shrugged, then held up his arm and shifted it to Gun Mode, posing as if he was on a movie poster. “It’s kinda growing on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Arc 1 isn’t over yet! We still have an Epilogue, as Greg reviews over his time as a parahuman and tries to make positive changes in his life.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Hey, that’s what happened to Gun Guy! Well, looks like he landed on his feet. I mean, after he landed on a box after an explosive blew him off his feet. Come to think of it, maybe he landed on his arm, and that’s why it’s metal now? Eh, you know what I mean!</p><p> </p><p>Mathematicians: I’m not claiming that Bakuda, a college student, could have created the proof for the Poincare Conjecture. I think it was more that she did a lot of work on it, turned it over to her professor to enter for her, and then he stole all her work and used it himself. Not that him stealing her work and claiming all the glory justifies her actions (murder), but it does help me use her as something other than a mad bomber. Also, math is fun!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Arc 1: Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="u">
    <span>Final Journal Entry...maybe:</span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s really hard looking back at your own mistakes and calling them actual mistakes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This isn’t easy. After the written tongue-lashing I read from the Thinkered-up version of myself, Kaleidoscope, though...I know that I need to do this. I have to change, to be willing to change, because I can’t just keep making mistakes like the ones I’ve been making all week.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I could have died to Knife Guy, the ABB, Lung, Gun Guy, Bellows, or my own dumb choices. The fact that the Undersiders didn’t rob or kill me was luck. I can’t just count on being lucky anymore. I have to make good plans. I have to improve.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, I just read back through my Journal. Every entry, every note, every page. I’ve got it all open right here, and I’m going to do what I should have done in the first place.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Instead of just writing down my thoughts, as though that solved anything, I’m going to reflect on what I’ve learned in the past few weeks. Because I have to change. I have to ask myself whether any of this was worth it, and if it wasn’t...I need to find something that does work.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If this Journal wasn’t actually helping me, then what would have worked better?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s see...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do I Understand My Classmates?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> Yeah, I think I do now. Sure, I can be annoying, but out of everyone at school only one of them ever did anything that could have really hurt me...Emma. Having people make fun of me or beat me up doesn’t mean they hate me...it just means they’re jerks. Also, if they’re just reacting to the bad way I act, then that should tell me something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do I Understand Exercise?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> All that running I did that first night, all those power tests I failed, and it should have taught me that I need to take better care of myself. I never understood why my body was always failing me, but that’s because all this time I was the one failing myself. Exercise was trying to tell me something this whole time...I just wasn’t listening.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do I Understand My Plans?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> I put my own plans on too high of a pedestal. I spent so much time thinking on all the angles and making big schemes, and was too afraid to question them. Look at the last week! All the plans I’d had that were years old had been failures, and all the ones that I just assumed were perfect were anything but. I had to stop going into everything thinking I was right...and be ready to be told I was wrong.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What I need is to find a way to stop working alone. Is there anyone I can trust, though?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do I Understand My Powers?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> I thought that my powers were terrible. Even after I figured them out and realized that I could copy powers, I thought they were such a bad match for me. I mean, powers that require other people, given to the guy who has no friends and sucks at talking to people? But now I get it! I have the greatest powers I could possibly get, with such versatility. They’ve given me the motivation I need to become a better Greg. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do I Understand My Brother?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> No, not yet. But that’s not his fault. Sure, George and I didn’t always get along perfectly, and I felt like he was trying to leave me behind. He had a new life, new job, new girlfriend, and it always seemed like he was rubbing all that in my face. But now I think that he was just trying to inspire me, to show me what perseverance and motivation could get me. He had my back, even after getting hurt...he deserves more recognition. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do I Understand the ABB?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> They’re a criminal gang, and that seems straightforward. But as Gun Guy taught me with all his safety stuff, I can’t just assume that they’re all a faceless evil entity. They’re people, and they have lives.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do I Understand Lung?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> As much as anyone else does, I guess. He’s a force of nature, an unstoppable enemy, and I was a fool for taking him on alone. I need to respect my limits. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Still, maybe someday I can fight him with friends by my side. A lot of friends. Like, a LOT.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do I Understand Hospitals?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> Yeah, I think I finally do. I shouldn’t feel so bad about what happened when I was a kid. All of those doctors and nurses took an oath, and all they were doing was helping a sad, injured kid. I can’t blame them for the way bullies kept coming after me, the principals who punished them, or my parents for caring about me. Going to the hospital was smart. Screaming at the nurse...less smart. She didn’t deserve that.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Do I Understand the Law?</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> Yeah. It took me meeting Bellows to fully get it. That guy was what I was on the track to becoming. Someone who saw the world in black and white, was obsessed with one goal, and had so much confirmation bias and deep-seated rage that dismissals set him off like an atom bomb. I need to be more like Kalpin and Hobson, a true team of friends.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So, what does all of this tell me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Most of all, it tells me that I have to start working on Greg instead of Greg’s powers. I need to make sure that I have parents, a brother, and maybe even friends to support me. But how I’m going to actually pull that off...that’s something I’m probably not going to figure out tonight.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This might be my final journal entry, or maybe it’s just time for my journal to evolve.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>-GregV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, Dec 25, 2010...Christmas Morning!]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>After typing up my (potentially) final journal entry, I went downstairs to sit on the couch and think about how I was going to fix everything I’d broken.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lisa was right, it’s only a matter of time before I get dragged into a fight or a cape matter.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t always count on super-brain powers to get me out of the problems I had created. I had to learn not to make them in the first place, and the right way to deal with them. No more running away, no more hiding, and someday...no more secrets. Powers wouldn’t always be there to help me...I had to learn to help myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need to build that support network GstringGirl was talking about. No more Secret Journals.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...come to think of it, that gives me a really good idea! Just a...quick...nap...first...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, before I had time to work out this great idea, I must have dozed off. In my defense, I was on a comfortable couch and pretty tired from a long night of yelling, talking, and using super-brain powers to reset my social connections with my family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then someone was shaking me, and I heard my name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, honey, did you sleep down here?” Mom was there, and I awoke from a dreamless sleep to see her concerned face peering down at me. She was in a bathrobe, and appeared to be a mix of worried and bemused. As I laughed nervously, she joined in...gesturing at the tree. “Well, I guess it’s not the first time you’ve slept by the tree. Merry Christmas, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, Mom.” I stood quickly from the couch and gave her a hug, only stopping when she let out a little squeak of surprise. I felt like I hadn’t seen her in days. “Oops, sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Admittedly, from my point of view it had certainly felt like days. The last time I had seen her she had been ready to fight me to protect George, as he leaned on her with blood dripping down-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, stop thinking about that. Kaleidoscope sorted that out for me. Be happy for once.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I gave an unsteady smile, one that she returned, and I think both of us realized that no matter how well last night had ended...that didn’t erase everything I had said or done earlier. Luckily, we were spared from any more nervous dialogue when Dad clambered downstairs, followed by George. Both paused at the bottom of the steps, looking owlishly at us before laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Greg, did you manage to catch Santa Claus this year?” George asked, a grin on his face as he pretended to look around. He walked around the room, not bothering to hide the small bandage on his hand, and I even think he pointed it at me so that I wouldn’t worry about it. He looked up our chimney, then sighed theatrically, “Guess we forgot to camp out this year, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, to be fair we had a lot of other stuff on our minds last night…” I started, then paused as everyone froze and looked anywhere other than at me. Taking a deep breath and noting a wonderful smell still in the air, I quickly added, “Like Mom’s sweet potato pie! I don’t know how you do it, Mom, but that was divine as always!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone let out a relieved laugh, and I internally cheered as the level of discomfort in the room almost visibly decreased. Mom headed for the kitchen to start making coffee, Dad started fussing with the tree’s lights, and George started moving things off the coffee table carefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, better help George with that heavy coffee table stuff. I kind of owe him for that hand.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, I moved to help George, and together we started clearing things off of the coffee table. I tried to start talking to him more than once, but even though he’d been cordial earlier with Mom and Dad around...I could still tell he was worried about something. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder what Kaleidoscope said to him? He was already nervous beforehand...what’s his deal?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon enough, we were all seated in the living room, having had a quick breakfast, and my parents were looking at the gifts I had gotten them. I had insisted that they open them first, just smiling and shrugging when they tried to ask what was inside. I didn’t want to give the wrong impression, and also...I really had no idea what Kaleidoscope had gotten them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their faces, a minute later, told me that it had been something amazing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even after that, as George and I tore through our own presents from our parents, envelopes from distant relatives, and little tchotchkes from our Christmas stockings, I found myself thinking about their faces. They’d been so surprised, so happy, and so proud of me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But it wasn’t me, was it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>No, those gifts hadn’t technically come from me. It was almost enough to bring me down…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But in a way, it was from me. Just a different version of me. The Greg I could be.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Someday, I would be that Greg, the one who brings smiles to my parents’ faces. Who fills my brother with hope. Who has friends that rely on him. Who inspires others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Powers didn’t solve my problems for me...they just gave me more options. That meant I needed to stop worrying about my powers so much, and fix the rest of my life.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can make this happen.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I could make this happen.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had already started, now it was time to keep going!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[End of Arc 1]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>*********************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Arc 2’s Prologue! Greg had an idea in this epilogue, a way to improve himself. Not physically, or with his powers, but to start building a strong foundation that would serve him for years. All he needs...is to be willing to ask for help. But of course it’s never that easy, because it’s a very strange kind of help he’s asking for...from a very odd source...</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: So ends Arc 1, with a happy holiday for Greg and new ideas on the horizon! </p><p>In Arc 1, Greg Triggered and focused entirely on his powers, finding that as you might expect, his non-powered life suffered incredibly for it. He jumped to conclusions, made dumb plans, made many mistakes, and got in a lot of trouble. Sure, he learned a lot about his powers, but he had to sacrifice a lot to get there. He pushed his family away, lied, and panicked. Even when he started confronting his problems and being responsible, it was still only a band-aid solution.</p><p>Starting in Arc 2, though, he’s going to go in a different direction. He feels pretty secure in his understanding of his powers, so now he’s going to try to set them aside and fix everything else about his life. Is that a good idea? Of course not! Going to the one extreme (all powers, no regard for anything else) was a disaster, so why would the other way (fix my social/family life at any cost) be any different? But he’s a human teenager...and so he learns by doing, failing, and trying again.</p><p>Thank you all for reading, commenting, and helping me to make this such an enjoyable experience, and I hope to keep up the same level of quality as we move forwards. </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Arc 2 Prologue: Peer Review</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: Just a little prologue before we kick the arc off for real. I’ve got a lot of stuff planned for Arc 2, everything from Fashionable Forays and Family Feels to Brotherly Bonding and Bloody Battles! </p><p>But first, in the Epilogue of Arc 1 Greg realized that keeping all his problems to himself had almost led to disaster...so here’s a little peek into his first steps into trying to open up to others. Thing is, he doesn’t have a lot of people he can open up to, especially after the way he acted all through Arc 1. Luckily, he does have a few options...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>[Saturday, Dec 25, 2010...Evening]</strong>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, this should be far enough.” I muttered to myself, glancing around subtly and trying not to let it look like I was checking for witnesses. I settled down onto one of the many handy (and wonderfully clean) benches that dotted Brockton Bay, and pulled out my phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stared at my phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents had been so tired from last night and everything else that they had decided to take a nap. Before the left, though, I mentioned to them that I was thinking of getting into jogging...and was going to take a quick walk around the neighborhood. I had my phone on me, and promised that I wouldn’t go too far or be gone for longer than an hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They seemed oddly okay with that, and told me to have a good walk. It made me feel a bit bad that I had now walked a good mile past our neighborhood, since I’d actually told them a little white lie. I was now several neighborhoods away, and the streets were clean but empty.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Already starting to undo Kaleidoscope’s work...but I can’t risk this call being traced to them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I slipped my scarf up over my mouth and nose, to disguise my voice a bit, and then carefully pulled out my wallet. After staring at it for a moment, I gingerly removed a business card, and then dialed the number on the card.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It rang. It rang again. Then I hung up, my hand shaking a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sure, I wanted to change, but going to the PRT is a huge step! Maybe I should rethink this-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone rang in my hand, and I was so startled that I answered and held it to my ear before I realized that it was probably…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Hobson’s voice asked, sounding tired. “We lost our connection. Are you in duress or danger? If so, please cough twice and then sniff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no! I’m fine!” In the background I could hear cloth sliding on cloth, and realized that the man was probably getting dressed and leaping into action or something. The sound stopped, and then continued at a much slower pace. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem, I needed to get up anyway. Kalpin seems to have stolen my alarm clock again in an attempt to get me to sleep more.” He gave a good-natured chuckle, one that I shared because it sounded like something the short blonde man would do. “We spent most of last night checking on various parahumans known for New Year’s Eve shenanigans, so we’re both tired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well I should probably let you go do...um...paperwork or something.” I started to hang up. “Sorry to bother yo-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” His voice was dead serious, and I stopped. I put the phone back to my ear. “If you called this number, my personal number, then this was serious. Please, talk to me. Take your time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I hang up, he might just track the phone, or do all kinds of things. I guess I may as well…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, sorry. This is G-” I stopped, mentally slapping myself for almost doing the exact thing I was trying to avoid in the first place! Idiot! Okay, what else could I use to identify myself? “This is that guy you met at the hospital. The one who...uh...wasn’t actually ABB.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, of course. Good to hear from you.” Hobson’s voice warmed up considerably, and I heard bed springs creak as he sat down. I wondered if he’d been getting ready to do something. “Kalpin and I were wondering when we’d cross paths with you again. How are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m kind of at a crossroads, I guess.” I trailed off, then took a deep breath and tried my best to think of how to sum up my situation and worries (without giving anything too personal). “I’ve come to realize that dealing with everything alone is just going to end in disaster, but at the same time...I’m not sure I’m ready to out myself to my parents or the PRT. Not yet, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, out of curiosity, what’s stopping you? Are you afraid your parents will react...badly?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sort of. I mean, not in a violent or abusive way.” I recognized that by saying it that way, it actually made it sound </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> like I thought that would happen. Smooth, Greg. “It’s more that we’ve been through a lot the past few weeks, and I don’t want to drop </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>on them as well. We have some issues, and are starting to work through them. I’m starting to see ways I can improve our relationship, and want to fix things before outing myself...but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re still afraid of doing this alone. At the same time, you’re also afraid of just handing over all responsibility, as if it will also destroy your independence and faith in yourself?” Hobson suggested, and I found myself nodding despite him not actually being able to see me. “Well, if it sounds like I’m familiar with that situation, it’s because I am. Can I tell you a story about why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded again, then realized that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> couldn’t see me and answered in the affirmative.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“About twenty years ago, Kalpin was a very...imaginative little boy. He played games, dreamed of big adventures, and explored the woods behind his house all the time. Like many children his age, he was also kind of a brat...ignoring schoolwork, disobeying his parents, and constantly messing with the girl next door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds familiar.” I muttered, smiling to myself. “No wonder I liked him so much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed, although not everyone shared that opinion. Regardless of his bad grades, detentions, kids making fun of him for acting childish, and bullies, he still refused to give up on his dreams. You see, Kalpin idolized the hero known as Vikare…” Hobson paused, as if remembering something. “Kalpin always envisioned himself as growing up to be like the man, as either a detective, spaceman, superhero, or other fantastic larger-than-life persona.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, a Vikare fanboy. Now that’s old school. He was the first superhero after Scion...until he…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then Vikare died.” Hobson sighed, as if recalling the same pain that everyone who was alive in 1989 seemed to share. The hero had been killed attempting to stop a riot, ending the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Golden Age of Parahumans</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “But that didn’t stop Kalpin. He decided that he was going to follow in the man’s footsteps. He would get better grades, get tall and strong, and become a cop or hero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s quite a change!” I smiled, remembering similar dreams when I was a kid. “I’ll bet his parents and teachers were thrilled.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not...quite. They actually didn’t believe him.” Hobson chuckled, and not in a nice way. This may have been a part of his own life he didn’t enjoy talking about, but he still pressed on. “Kalpin had spent years telling amazing stories, having big dreams, and rarely following up on any of them. He only did housework and homework when forced to, and avoided responsibility as a matter of his very being. Nobody believed this new dream would last very long at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Except for me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Hobson said, with a firm declaration so sudden and sharp that I almost wondered if a third person had entered the conversation. “I was his only friend back then, and I swore that I would help him achieve his dreams. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No matter what</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why you two are such good friends, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One of many reasons. He kept pushing ahead with his dreams and ideas, and I kept him grounded and on-track. His grades began to improve, he started to grow up, he became more mature and dependable, moved out to live with his best friend…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t think I need to ask to know who that best friend was.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...and then finally there came a day when he confronted his parents as a newly-hired member of the PRT. He told them all about how he got there...and they apologized for not believing him.” Hobson sighed, and I could hear him handling something that I couldn’t see. “He just shrugged it off, saying that he always believed in himself, and that I had as well, so he’d stopped caring what they thought a long time ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what you’re saying is, what? Find a friend to help guide me, and forget about my parents?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” Hobson’s voice was sharp, and then he lowered it again. “No, what I’m saying is that you don’t need to treat doing this alone and going to your parents as two steps that are right next to each other. Rather, you should treat them as being a few steps apart and work your way up to them. Start by climbing hills, then work your way up to mountains. Just...don’t take too long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So maybe, I could find a friend, or someone to hold me accountable. Someone who can call me out on my dumb choices and help me think of better ones…” I trailed off, thinking, and Hobson let me. “Then, in a few weeks, when I think I can deal with giving up control and have a stronger bond with my parents, come out to them and the PRT?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As an officer of the PRT, I would say no. I would say that you should report right this very moment for power testing and classification, and join the Wards.” He chuckled, then added, “But you called my personal number. So as Hobson, best friend of Kalpin, I say...yes, you’re on the right track. Just, remember my story...don’t shut your family out. Parahumans need support! They need people to trust, people to call them on dumb choices, and people to love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand. Thanks, Hobson...I guess I’ll see you guys in a few weeks.” My mind was already racing, an idea I’d had earlier was now looking much better. Maybe I could make this work after all. “Hey, by the way, I had been wondering...why do you guys call each other by your last names?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, Kalpin and Hobson?” He laughed, then whispered back. “What makes you think those are our last names?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he hung up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So now I was back in my room, once again typing away on my computer while I heard my parents watching a movie with George down below. I’d been working on my new idea for over an hour now, and was carefully tweaking the last few details of an email.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was having trouble hitting Send, though, so I switched to another window and looked at my Secret Journal. Every page had received several edits, and I thought about the original idea as a whole while my eyes roved over the page one...last...time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Secret Journal idea had seemed like such a good idea, but it had a major flaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That would be the Secret part. Probably should have seen this coming.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easy to say that the worst part about a secret was that it was a secret, but that’s what it boiled down to. More specifically, it was the fact that I was the only one in on the secret, and therefore all the pressure was on me. I was the only one who:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could find any problems, because I was the only one looking for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could make improvements, because I was the only one who knew what was happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Could make corrections, because I was the only one who’d know when things went wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The list went on and on. Essentially, I had to do everything, and for someone juggling as much as I was now, that was just too much pressure. Not only did I have my new powers, but I also had to worry about how things would interact with my parents, George, my life, time management, and...in a week...school. That alone would add a whole pile of problems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, I couldn’t keep this a secret anymore. Trying to go it alone for only a week had gotten me blown up, burned, shot, cut, and nearly arrested several times. I’d fought a supervillain because nobody had suggested it was a dumb idea. I’d gone after the ABB because of a childish tantrum. I’d told my parents off, without considering how they really might have felt.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I could list my mistakes all day, or I could actually get to work on preventing them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t just trust that I’d run into someone like Lisa again to pull my dumb ass out of the fire. There wouldn’t always be powers there to save the day, and I-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need to stop stalling and click the button already. The sooner I ask, the sooner I know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>...maybe I’d read it over one more time, just in case?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though my grounding didn’t technically end for another few hours, Mom and Dad had given me back by computer and phone early. They’d claimed that they didn’t want to keep me away from my friends, and I hadn’t had the heart to tell them that “friends” didn’t need a plural.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, if all went as planned, I would only need one friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To think, I never would have had this idea if not for all the punishment I went through!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was during that hellish week of punishment that the idea had come to me. I had been unable to focus on powers or anything fun, so all I had time to do was chores. Every night I’d go to bed exhausted, and find the ‘lessons’ of the day spinning through my head until I finally passed out. But it wasn’t until tonight, after a fun day of presents and family, that it had all finally clicked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad had been making me do chores, carrying heavy loads around and such. My muscles had hated me for it, but the hardest part at first had been the boxes that I could barely even slide. For those, at first I had been angry at Dad, thinking he was just doing it to make me feel terrible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then I’d asked him for help, exasperated...and he’d instantly grinned and leapt to my rescue. It hadn’t made the boxes any lighter, but suddenly the job was going twice as fast. Even when we dropped a few, we’d both taken the blame and Mom had let us off with only a glare.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was he trying to teach me to ask for help, and how powerful a team could be?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Mom had been giving me loads and loads of books to read and talk to her about. Homework, with a limited time to read it, and discussions I couldn’t avoid. But what had really bugged me was when she’d give me stuff that was too much for me to read in a limited time, or too complex for me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d been annoyed, but then right near the end...I’d told her as much and she apologized. She decreased the difficulty, without questioning me. No comments about my literacy, no veiled insults, nothing like that. Just acknowledgement that it was okay to come up short, maybe?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was she trying to teach me that it was okay to admit when I was in over my head?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I guess it was because I’d never been in this particular mindset before, but I realized last night that they had been trying to teach me...in a new way. I’d thought they were just coming up with new ways to punish me, after that conversation I’d overheard, but...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were actually trying new methods of getting through to me. Even if I was being difficult.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They were </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>trying</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>. Even if I couldn’t see it. Now I feel even worse about telling them off.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I shook my head. It didn’t matter, because I was seeing it now. I was using their lessons.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or at least I will use their lessons, if I ever stop spell checking this damn email. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Biting my lip, I read it one last time, just in case there were any mistakes.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Really, just one more time? That’s what I said last time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Twentieth time’s the charm! This email must be perfect!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl,</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Sorry it’s taken me a week to get back to you. My parents grounded me for...well, let’s just say it’s a long story and I kind of had it coming. I hope leaving like that wasn’t too rude, but parents, you know? There’s no snooze alarm on parental judgement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, I know this may seem like it’s coming out of nowhere, but I wanted to thank you for your advice on that fanfic we were talking about before we got cut off. The ideas you had about creating support networks really paid off, and the character is becoming more balanced and fun to write. The world is solid and all the powers are set, so I’m looking forward to writing more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...which actually brings me to a favor I wanted to ask. It’s okay if you don’t want to, but I was kind of hoping you would be willing to be my Pre-reader? The problem I’m having is that the character is...kind of a socially awkward jerk, and made a lot of mistakes. I don’t want to change what I have so far, but feel like I can improve from here on out with your help. I’ve got it on a password-protected shared drive, and having you read it and talk to me would really help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know I say a lot of dumb stuff on PHO, but you’ve always had my back, and I’m really thankful for that...even if I don’t always say it. I’m trying to be better about that sort of thing, and writing this character has helped me see some of my own flaws. Much like the main character, I’m trying to get a better relationship with my family and friends, and your advice helped with that. You’re one of my friends, so technically by helping me, you help yourself have a better friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, sorry for the usual word vomit. I’ve been writing and rewriting this for a bit. Regardless of what you decide, thanks for the help...and for being there for me.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Void_Cowboy</b>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea had come to me when talking with GstringGirl a week ago. She had said that my “self-insert fanfic character” needed a support network, a friend...someone they could talk to and trust. Even if she didn’t know I was talking about myself, she’d been right that people (capes or not)  needed someone in their life to be honest, supportive, and at times...critical.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was kind of like what I’d seen with Kalpin and Hobson. Sure, they worked well together, but they were literally the definition of buddy cops. Both covered for each other’s weaknesses, amplified each other’s strengths, practically seemed to read each other’s minds...they were a team, and together they were far greater than they’d have been alone. They also poked fun at each other and called each other out on dumb stuff (mostly Hobson on Kalpin, admittedly).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They represented the kind of friends that I had always dreamed about. I wondered how they had met, and what amazing tales they could tell about their lives and adventures together. To grow up knowing someone like that, I’d have imagined the days were just packed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, I had someone like that, and any minute now I would find out whether she was interested in helping me improve my “writing style” (or life, in reality) with tips and advice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It may have seemed silly, like I was just trading out one lie for another, but I had to go slowly. I just...I didn’t really know how to talk to my parents, brother, or even a therapist about this sort of thing. I couldn’t go to the PRT proper, there wasn’t a hotline I could call without being afraid of having the call traced, and...there were just too many things that could go wrong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d heard all the horror stories of capes being outed by friends, family, and even random strangers. But in this case I wasn’t actually giving her any details about me (aside from my first name) or my actual powers. Thanks to the anonymity of the internet, I was pretty sure I could make this work. I had already taken painstaking precautions to avoid it being linked to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So I had made a copy of my Secret Journal and archived it elsewhere, putting it on a thumb drive and hiding it under a loose floorboard in my closet. Then I had updated the folder so that I could share it with someone, but made sure the files and text couldn’t be copied. Finally, I had painstakingly gone through all the entries and made massive cuts, changes, and alterations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For instance, the main character was now Greg V. Reed. Other characters included Talia Abert (Taylor), Sofiyah Esh (Sophia), Irma Burns (Emma), Madaline Clubbins (Madison), and so on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My powers had been changed to just copying a single power and having it be weak as heck. I’d cut out the hospital, as well as changing the details in a bunch of my powered adventures. It was now a self-insert fanfiction set in Brockton Bay, a place she already knew I lived, about a kid named Greg who wanted to fix up his life before trying to become a hero.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In other words, fiction based on truth, hidden as fiction. I’m a genius!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After the way she came through for me with her other advice, I knew that I could turn to her for something like this. I didn’t need help with powers or costumes, no...what I needed was someone to help me “shape the narrative” of my “self-insert” and his growth as a person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In other words, having her look over my (severely edited) mistakes up until now and figure out what to do from here. Now that I had my powers mostly figured out, I could get her help fixing the other parts of my life that desperately needed it. Something she was good at, apparently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That meant family, friends, social life, and so much more that I had no idea how to fix. I was going to put my powers aside for a bit, and work on Greg Veder, like I had been planning before. The problem </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>had been that I’d spent so much time rushing to use and understand my powers, everything else about my life had fallen apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What I needed was someone who would call me out on my dumb choices, make suggestions about what I could do better, and maybe even suggest powers that could help. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not do the job for me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but just help...and they always said that two heads were better than one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was time for some peer review, and then I could-</span>
</p><p>
  <b>DING</b>
</p><p>
  <span>My email notification went off. I felt a surge of nerves shoot through me, and for a brief moment I considered what her reply could be.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is she telling me that it’s a dumb idea, and that she has better things to do than-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is she laughing, taking a screenshot to tell all her friends and family about the loser that-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is she letting me down gently, already blocking me because I was being too much of a-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Calm down.” I took a deep breath, speaking out loud and closing my eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No way of knowing the future if I’m too afraid to even look at it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m never going to be a hero if I can’t even take chances...if I can’t even learn to trust people.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I opened my eyes, and read her reply. Just in case, I read it a second time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I smiled, and pumped my fist in the air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was going to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Arc 2 truly begins! With his goal to become a hero renewed, Greg decides to...spend the cash and gift cards he got from Christmas! But wait, what’s this? A powerful hero and some terrible teenagers? The incredible temptation to take an awesome power? Can Greg control himself...or maybe even learn a valuable lesson?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Thus, the “Secret Journal” evolves! Story arc 2 will no longer have random monologues with just Greg! Now it’ll be a discussion with GstringGirl, as he is called out on dumb stuff he did before and given suggestions on new things to try. Even better, it lets me expand on their relationship a bit, as well as still providing a hint of what’s to come in each chapter.</p><p>...yes, I know it’s a very teenage thing to do, trusting someone he’s only known online for something like this, but he’s changed virtually everything but his first name and removed most of the powers stuff that could identify him. This is an idea that fits well with a child of the internet who wants to improve but isn't ready to trust the non-anonymous humans in his life. Also, I can assure you that I know at least one real human being who has actually done something like this. </p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. 2.1: Dealing With Self-Control</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: Arc 2 begins for real! Time for Greg to start learning to deal with the things he used to think hated him, to stand up to his problems, and triumph over...wait, what does that title say? Self control? Oh man, did you forget you were a teenager, Greg? I know some adults who still haven’t figured self-control out! Way to start off with one of the hard ones…</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>so, i read all the notes you gave me, and i gotta say...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Yeah? What did you think?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>...your protagonist is a complete and total idiot!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Ouch. I resemble that remark! But seriously, aside from that what did you think?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>he‘s a wuss! he runs away from everything and has no self-control</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Well, to be fair he’s 15, panics a lot, and need I repeat myself...he’s 15.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>so is that why you called all his enemies dumb stuff? because he’s dumb?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>like that nazi! you couldn’t come up with a better name than ‘knife guy?’</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> He had a knife, he was a guy. To a 100lb weakling, that’s practically unbeatable.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>ok...but if he was so weak, why do your notes say he fought Lung once?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Well...the thing about that is...uh...reasons?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>for that matter, how did he even find him? I mean, why was even Lung there?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> It’s a requirement in Brockton Bay cape fanfics. They all have to fight Lung at some point.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>what, so Lung is just standing around in Brockton Bay, waiting to be fought?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Not exactly, but as a power copier, this fic is going to have a lot of cape interactions. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>it can’t all be fighting though, he should probably meet them in street clothes too</span>
  
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Eh, with his taste in fashion, that actually might make them all run away from him.</span>
</p><p>***</p><p>[Sunday, Dec 26, 2010]</p><p>“Hey Greg, looking sharp!” </p><p>“Thanks!” I pointed back at the speaker, snapping both fingers and firing my finger guns at them. They grinned at me and nodded, as I turned and showed off my sweet new spread of clothing. “Check this out. I’m hero material, head to toe!”</p><p>Indeed, Christmas had been good to me, and for once it wasn’t all just a mish-mash of clothing and gift cards. No, in this case it was a very specific piece of clothing...and a bunch of gift cards, which I guess was a welcome change of pace. The gift cards were all in my desk drawer, waiting for me to figure out the best way to use them, but right now I just enjoyed looking good.</p><p>On my head was an Armsmaster knit cap, efficiently crafted to deflect the maximum amount of wind while also keeping enough heat for warmth. My shoes were the same brand, and while they might have been a few months old they had the same water-resistance...as well as microfibers that supposedly wicked sweat away, probably storing it in some sort of hidden pocket dimension.</p><p>
  <em> Wait, that might just be my imagination. Eh, whatever. At least they’re not exploded in a hospital. </em>
</p><p>My jeans were one of my usual old pairs, but the green of Miss Militia and a flag logo branded my butt as the property of the USA. My socks were also her brand, not that anyone would have known, but since it was chilly this morning a pair of shorts was probably out of the question. My shirt was one of my limited edition ones, barely worn and showing Scion in beautiful gold and brown...but the real treasure was what covered it.</p><p>Perhaps they’d noticed that my wardrobe had far too much red and green in it, especially after the whole “ABB cosplay” thing, but my parents had found a nice way to nudge me in a new direction. My number one favorite hero, Eidolon, had a new jacket in his clothing line that had just come out, and I was the proud owner of one of the 10,000 made so far. I proudly stretched my arms out, enjoying the full range of movement despite the sort of stiff leather feel it had.</p><p>“Wow, that looks amazing, Greg.” I looked over my shoulder, nodding in reply and turning back around. “Hey, Greg, the color is really amazing, but why’s there stuff on the lining as well?”</p><p>“Oh, well that’s the best part!” I laughed, sliding the jacket off (something I’d done a dozen times now) and displaying it. The coloration was similar to Eidolon’s costume, a blue-green that slowly shifted to green-white as it reached the sleeves. It even had a built-in hood like his costume that could be stored in the neck. But the real surprise was what else it could do. “Check this out!”</p><p>I flipped the jacket inside out, then slipped it back on and revealed the exact same jacket...but with Alexandria’s black and Legend’s blue, a mix of silver and grey between them. This was meant to signify the connection between the three members of the Triumvirate, and also meant that I was basically getting two jackets for the price of one. No longer would people tease me for wearing the same thing all the time!</p><p>
  <em> Now they can tease me for wearing the same TWO things all the time. Much better. </em>
</p><p>“That’s amazing, Greg! It really-” </p><p>“Greg, who the heck have you been talking to?” Dad opened my door, looking around and seeing that I was alone in my room. It was clean enough that he could move around inside, but still made a bit of a show of looking under the bed and in the closet. Finally, he turned a wry smile my way and...paused.</p><p>Dad had promised to try and tone down the humor when it came to my social awkwardness and odd habits, and I instantly felt my heart go out to him for catching himself so fast. I know that I would have had to screw that up at least a few dozen times to get it right, with copious feedback from my conversation partners. I quickly moved to fill the sudden silence, turning my jacket back to normal as I did so.</p><p>“It’s okay Dad, I know it was kind of strange. I was just practicing showing off my sweet new jacket, in case I run into anyone and they want to try complimenting me for a change.” I slipped the jacket back on and crossed the room, giving him an out. I’d noticed both him and Mom being a lot more complimentary the past few hours, so this was a Grade-A opportunity for just such a-</p><p>“If they’re not complimenting you, son, then they don’t know what they’re missing out on.” Ah, there it was. I made sure to smile widely, the first step in my attempts to fix my relationships (at GstringGirl’s advice) being to express my emotions better. Dad grinned back, and caught me with a one-armed hug as I got nearby. He stealthily leaned in to whisper, “Also, I’ve got your mother distracted for a few hours, so go ahead and end that grounding a bit early.”</p><p>“Really?” I whispered back, glancing in the mirror as if to check my own reflection for verification. “Can you do that? I mean, this is Mom we’re talking about. Remember the time you told me I could watch Nightmare on Elm Street and then she grounded both of us for a weekend?”</p><p>“To be fair, we’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t started screaming during the scene with the...you know what, never mind.” He shook it off, probably remembering that I’d only started screaming because he’d flipped out when Freddy did that thing with the bed. “George is trying to convince her to go on some kind of vacation thing, so she’s stuck with him for a while. Go on.”</p><p>He made motions with his arms, as if shooing me away, and I immediately headed for the door. Then, as if remembering something, I stopped and came back for a minute.</p><p>One hug later, and about 15 seconds after that, and I was out the door.</p><p>
  <em> Time to go into town and show off my sweet new duds! </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>“Oh my god, what a total dweeb! Can you believe this guy?”</p><p>
  <em> Well, I got their attention, at least. That’s step one, probably. Good job so far? </em>
</p><p>My plan had been going so well, despite a few hiccups along the way. I had taken a bus into the denser parts of town, figuring I’d start at the Boardwalk and walk around a bit. I didn’t have much money on me, but I could look for some nice after-Xmas sales and remember them for later. Plus, this was an excellent chance to try a few of the suggestions I’d gotten from both my mother and GstringGirl.</p><p>Surprisingly, their advice had been remarkably similar on the subject of improving social skills. Though one had made the suggestions via books and conversation, and the other through chat messages and websites, they both came down to very similar lines.  </p><p>
  <em> Although, I don’t know GstringGirl’s actual age. For all I know she’s a mom with bad grammar. </em>
</p><p>Anyway, both had told me not to try and rush a friendship right off the bat (like I’d been doing for years at school), but instead to treat it more like getting into a hot bath. Look at the water, dip your toe, ease your way in, and then relax until you’re used to it. Actually, that had been Mom’s analogy. GstringGirl’s was more about how Crawler adapted to lava that one time.</p><p>Either way, that was one of the main reasons for my sweet all-cape outfit. Not only to show off my amazing jacket, but also because it made me stand out. The point of this walk and my easy-going expression was to practice conversation with random people. Given the number of cape fans in Brockton Bay, there was no doubt that I’d eventually run into someone who wanted to trade words, and then I could work on talking to them without stress or fear.</p><p>“Look at him, is he gonna cry? Hey Veder, are you sad we don’t like your baby clothes?”</p><p>
  <em> Unfortunately, I just had to run into two of my worst enemies: </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Emma Barnes, and the faceless mass of bullies known as Emma’s Entourage </em>
</p><p>“No, I was just wondering if I should...” I trailed off, looking anywhere but at her grinning face. The girls had all been clustered around the window of a high-end clothing store, chatting about something, and I’d made the mistake of walking over to see what the commotion was. Now I was remembering all the things I hated about her, and felt vindictive. “...call the cops on you.”</p><p>Rather than recoil in fear or plead with me not to ruin her life, Emma burst out laughing. Her cronies joined in, and she slowly stalked forwards until we were only a few feet apart.</p><p>“I’m not sure if you know this, geek,” Emma smiled, tossing her hair over one shoulder, flicking her fingers as if I was a speck of dirt. “But hurting peoples’ feelings isn’t a criminal offense. If it was, then maybe hurting other senses would be illegal as well, and that whole outfit would be enough to get you thrown in the Birdcage!”</p><p>I went stock still, my face frozen in fear, and they all started calling and laughing again. They probably thought that I had just crumbled under some sick burn, but in reality I was shocked that she somehow knew I was a parahuman. Had she known that I triggered, connected the dots?</p><p>
  <em> No, wait, she was probably just making a play off the Birdcage being the worst jail ever... </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ...and my clothes, being a fashion crime. Well, whatever, that’s just like, her opinion, man. </em>
</p><p>“N-no, I didn’t mean that at all!” My voice might have cracked a bit, and they started another round of laughter as Emma turned to walk away. I gave them a moment to calm down, and then threw out <em> my </em> sick burn. “I mean the way you tried to get me killed by the E88, Emma.”</p><p>Emma stopped. She held up a hand and her friends went silent. Then she turned around.</p><p>
  <em> Why is she smiling? All I need are the phone records and she’ll be...oh no. </em>
</p><p>“If you had any proof, that might mean something, Veder.” Emma came closer, putting a hand on my cheek as if we were lovers. I flinched away a little, and her smile curved a bit more than I would have liked. Despite that, she continued to talk, lowering her voice. “Do you have any actual records of a phone number leading you somewhere? Or...is this just a Red Herring?”</p><p>
  <em> Shit, I’m an idiot. That was the screen name she was texting me from. She played me. </em>
</p><p>“Y-you, you can’t just-” I gritted my teeth, feeling like her eyes were burning into mine. “You can’t do this to people. It’s not right, I could have been k-killed.”</p><p>“Then maybe in the future you should stay down in the gutter, with the rest of the weaklings.” </p><p>I started to reply, but then she stepped forwards and slapped me, hard. I felt a ringing in my ears, and staggered to the side until I slammed into the glass near the door to the clothing store. I dimly saw someone inside hand something off to another patron and then walk towards me, but I was too busy trying to get my feet under me and-</p><p>“Hey, can you guys please keep it down?” An oddly familiar voice caught my attention, and I turned to see someone who was blonde, beautiful, and...wow. I couldn’t stop staring at her. “Some of us are trying to get these sales before all the good stuff is gone, and...hello?”</p><p>“Sorry, he was...he was...wow.” Emma had sounded apologetic (in that fake voice she always used when she got caught bullying Taylor), but then trailed off part way through. Out of the corner of my eye I could see that she was staring, just as I was, at this vision of beauty in front of me, and I immediately cursed myself for daring to dedicate any of my attention to anything but this-</p><p>
  <em> Wait, what was I thinking about? </em>
</p><p>“Sorry about that, I sometimes let my temper get the best of me.” The woman...who was still beautiful, but now no longer taking up every ounce of my brain, apologized.  “Was there some kind of problem out here?”</p><p>I glared at Emma, as if daring her to try something (secretly hoping she wouldn’t), and she seemed to decide that it wasn’t worth causing a scene. More likely, she didn’t want me to loudly accuse her of nearly getting me killed by nazis. Instead, Emma just started to talk about her adoration of the one who had just been messing with our minds a moment earlier.</p><p>I was staring at the woman as well, but it was for a slightly different reason. Now that I was able to actually think, I recognized her as Victoria Dallon, or Glory Girl of the Independent group called New Wave. One of the few (for a good reason) groups of heroes that had willingly unmasked, they were all very well-known in Brockton Bay for their powers, deeds, and appearances. </p><p>Victoria in particular was a knockout blonde, dressed in normal clothing that nonetheless looked stunning on her. I knew nothing of fashion, but the way Emma was going (as Victoria seemed to preen at the attention) it must have been amazing. I was looking at the hero as well, although I was looking at something that Emma probably didn’t care that much about...</p><p>Her powers. I was looking at her powers. I mean, she was beautiful but...powers!</p><p>There were four of them, although it seemed like my power couldn’t decide whether the last one was actually two powers. As usual, they had an odd theme that was probably personal to Victoria in some way.</p><p>
  <em> Why do they look like that? It’s like Wind, or maybe Tornadoes? Hurricanes? Air? </em>
</p><p>The first power was a powerful wind, and I was calling it Gale Force. It felt like anything that came into contact with it would be deflected or knocked off course. It was probably the force field she had, which I’d heard was capable of deflecting bullets, rocks, and punches from the toughest of Brutes. What was odd was the way this power also felt like it was just about to run out with every gust...but the air kept coming. I wasn’t sure what that meant.</p><p>The second power made me glad I’d watched <em> Total Recall </em>, because this was obviously some kind of air pressure. I decided to call it Heavy Wind, and decided that it must have been her super strength. It crushed everything it came into contact with, which explained why she sometimes got accused of control issues. What was strange was the way it felt like it was connected in some way to Gale Force, making me wonder if it was like Velocity’s birds…</p><p>The third power was a glorious breeze, and despite not being that strong it felt like it could lift anything. As if just touching it would let me pull right off the ground, move around as easily as the birds, and touching down to Earth would be entirely optional. This was her flight, I guessed.</p><p>
  <em> But this last power (powers?), this is just strange. Is it two powers or one? </em>
</p><p>The last power, I decided, was meant to be two powers. Somehow it had been crammed together as one power, but it felt like it was wildly out of control. Fitting, then, that it was a Tornado. One moment it was majestic, awe-inspiring, and beautiful...I wanted to touch it, to hold it, to...love it... </p><p>Then without warning, it <em> shifted </em> into a horrifying, destructive, monster of a storm. I briefly saw her looking at me, but I was so startled that I cast my eyes to the sidewalk, trying not to think about <em> the power </em> looking <em> at me </em>.</p><p>
  <em> So, that’s why the rumors of her having a fear aura or love aura are so widespread. </em>
</p><p>“So, did you have fun staring at her boobs, Veder?” Emma’s voice cut into my thought process, and I looked up to see the door closing and Emma regarding me as if I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. Whatever kind fangirl she’d been a moment ago had vanished, leaving only the Dark Bully Queen of Winslow. “Glad I could make your Christmas wish come true.”</p><p>“I wasn’t looking at that!” I panicked, looking around and seeing that Emma’s entourage hadn’t heard her (to her annoyance, they were still chattering about seeing Victoria) and neither had most of the passers by. I grasped for something to say, going with, “I was impressed by her...clothes.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’ll bet.” Emma rolled her eyes, walking past me and bumping me with a shoulder as she passed. I stumbled a bit, though not into the glass again, and caught myself. “Like you know anything about clothes with a half-ass costume like that knockoff jacket on.”</p><p>Annoyed, I started to stalk after her, two of her bigger friends stepping up to block me. Any one of them was more than a match for me, the boy with the physique of a scarecrow, but even with that in mind I didn’t find myself backing down. Their eyes on me made me feel powerful, and I grinned as their attention made me feel strong. I was the center of attention.</p><p>Maybe my grin had them feeling off, because they suddenly looked worried about something. I widened the grin, and they backed up a bit as I stood there staring them down. I could actually feel a sort of pressure in my skull, like a headache that didn’t hurt, and pressed harder on it as my new power drifted closer to the rest of those ungrateful-</p><p>
  <em> Wait, new power? Oh crap, I must have grabbed something by accident.  </em>
</p><p>Trying to play my sudden panic off as a lack of interest in them, I scoffed and crossed my arms. As I looked inside myself, I pretended to look down on the two girls dismissively. It was made easier by the fact that both were a few inches shorter than me, and perhaps helped by my attempt to mimic the same sort of stance I’d seen Lung take. Both looked confused.</p><p>
  <em> Yep, there it is. I have the Bipolar Tornado. Hmm, good name for it. Let’s just switch that…off. </em>
</p><p>As if a switch had literally been flipped, both girls lost the uncomfortable feeling that had come over their stances and glanced at each other. Neither said a word, and they quickly turned and rejoined their herd of free-range Followers. They were probably too afraid to admit that they’d been worried about a skinny weirdo, and would write it off as nothing.</p><p>
  <em> Wow, great self-image there, Greg. </em>
</p><p>Ignoring my own self-recrimination for being down on myself when I had a power that made people afraid of me, I started trying to figure the power out. Emma appeared to be done messing with me (for now), and instead was giving the others a play-by-play of Victoria’s fashion choices. She supposedly worked as a model or something, so I guess she was an expert.</p><p>I, on the other hand, was an up-and-coming expert on parahuman powers, so I was doing some research of my own. I was looking deep within myself, trying to figure this new power out.</p><p>
  <em> And if the power activated by accident and made some bullies a bit uncomfortable, big deal.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> My version seems pretty weak, and it’s not like this is a Master effect, right? </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>It took a few minutes, but I more or less figured the power out. I wasn’t sure if this power was pheromones, lights, hypnotism, some combination of them all, or...power bullshit. Whatever the actual pathway from me to others was, it created an aura about ten feet around me. </p><p>There was a pressure in my mind, like a new muscle I’d never felt before, and I decided that must be like the kink in a garden hose. When I turned it off, I felt a pressure in my mind increase a bit. Turn it on, and the pressure would vanish.</p><p>
  <em> Wow, that must be why she always forgets she has it on. It’s an actual effort to suppress it! </em>
</p><p>Following that was the startling realization my emotions determined the intensity of the effect. If I thought about something that annoyed me (that one girl who kept popping her gum), the girls to my left got a bit antsy. If I tried something that made me mad (like how Emma had nearly gotten me killed) they’d physically shift away from me, sometimes without realizing it until they bumped into someone.</p><p>
  <em> Okay, now let’s try the Love/Awe version. Maybe if I twist it...like this? That was easy enough.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Now, what would make me happy? Ha, what a dumb question. Where to even start? </em>
</p><p>I noticed suddenly that Emma had gone quiet. I glanced over at them, wondering if this was the point when she was finally going to just tell me to buzz off already. I’d been standing here for several minutes, after all. I was sure that at any moment she was going to tell me off and have her friends give me a shove to drive the point home.</p><p>But what I actually saw made that whole line of thought grind to a halt. Emma and the others were staring at me, smiles on some faces and slack jaws on others. It wasn’t like before, when they’d been happy to see a target or amazed at how dumb I was, no. </p><p>This was actual Awe, Adoration, and...Love? They were looking at me as if I was the greatest thing in the world, a hero worthy of the eyes of millions. Everything I had hoped for, right in front of me with none of the effort I had been so nervous about. It was all right here.</p><p>
  <em> This is what I wanted. Respect, love, adoration, and...friends.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Right here. Right now. My dream can come true. </em>
</p><p>For a brief, heartstopping moment, I had a little daydream.</p><p>***</p><p>In my dream, I was surrounded by everyone. Friends, family, classmates, and even new people.</p><p>All my social issues were just completely ignored, and everyone accepted me for who I was.</p><p>My parents and brother were proud of me, and I didn’t feel like I needed to be different for them.</p><p>I could wear the clothes I wanted to, without being made fun of. Some people even copied me. </p><p>I could tell jokes without people getting mad or feeling uncomfortable. They all laughed with me.</p><p>I could ask questions without being insulted, and actually learn what I was doing wrong. </p><p>I could meet new people without being afraid, and be able to make mistakes and gaffes.</p><p>More than any of that, even when I messed up, people would love me. They’d appreciate me.</p><p>And if they didn’t? I could make them fear me. I could have friends to defend me.</p><p>I’d never be afraid again. I’d never be alone again.</p><p>
  <em> Or...would I be more alone than ever? Especially when the power wears off... </em>
</p><p>Yeah, I’d get in trouble, but wouldn’t it be worth it, just for a little bit?</p><p>
  <em> No. I’d be letting myself down. I’d be letting them all down. </em>
</p><p>No, this wasn’t worth it. There were so many things wrong with thinking like this. It would be fake, like those kids who used to pretend to be my friend and then prank me. Hell, I would basically be like a bully, forcing people to like me against their will instead of letting them choose. Instead of letting my own charm, sense of humor, and creativity convince them.</p><p>But the thing that bothered me most of all was how similar it was to the plans I’d made as a child...the same ones I’d rejected weeks ago. I was letting my dreams of revenge, of impressing others, and of making a new life instead of fixing the old one back into my head. This wasn’t the type of person I wanted to be, the sort who just let his powers fix his problems. I had just spent a week learning (with the exception of the thing with Lisa) that a life like that was a dream.</p><p>
  <em> But man, it was a really nice dream, huh? Something to look forward to, I guess. </em>
</p><p>This, though? This was <b>wrong</b>. I was acting like a villain.</p><p>It was exactly what Kaleidoscope had warned me about. I was being a goddamn idiot and testing my powers out on civilians. I had lied to myself that it didn’t matter because they were bullies, but that was wrong. I’d let myself get drunk on power, lower my standards, and fail.</p><p>
  <em> I have to be better than this. Better than them. Need to hold myself to a higher standard. </em>
</p><p>I clamped down on the power, and the dream ended.</p><p>***</p><p>“Sorry, what were you saying about that belt, Emma?” I called out, and the girl in question shook her head, looking at me oddly for a moment. She glanced at the others and seemed to realize that they had gone silent as well. Rather than think about anything else (like why she’d just been staring at me), she immediately recovered. </p><p>“The...belt. Yes, the belt!” Emma gestured grandly at Victoria, who was holding a white belt up to her dress. I knew nothing about why it did or didn’t work, but Emma was treating this like some sort of Master’s level thesis, ending with her guarantee that a “fellow fashionista like Vicky” would certainly pick the belt.</p><p>Which is why it was so funny that she tossed the belt to a clerk, shrugging as the woman put it back on the shelf. It made me chuckle, seeing Emma’s slack jaw as her whole big explanation crumbled to dust around her. She whirled to glare at everyone laughing…</p><p>
  <em> Oh wait, I’m the only one who actually laughed out loud. Whoops. Eh, sorry not sorry. </em>
</p><p>“What, you think you know fashion and clothing better than me, Veder?” Emma looked as if she was going to stomp over and hit me again, but instead hid her mouth behind her hand and giggled. “You probably get all your clothing tips from comic books and video games, what do you know? Go on, Veder, regale us with your knowhow!”</p><p>Her friends chuckled, and I should have felt the usual surges of anxiety and embarrassment flowing through me like water through a firehose. She waved a hand at me, as though she was a knowledgeably professor and was doing the whole “would you like to teach the class” thing. I really felt like I <em> should </em> have been stuttering, mumbling, or beating a hasty retreat.</p><p>..but instead I just felt kind of happy. They were all looking at me, expecting something, and for some reason that felt really good. On some level I knew that it was Victoria’s personality, making me love having them watch me. Maybe this explained some of her actions, and why she sometimes went a bit overboard by accident. It was nice being the center of attention, wasn’t it?</p><p>
  <em> Know what? They want to see something amazing? They want a show? Let’s give them one. </em>
</p><p>“You’re right, Emma, I actually don’t know that much about fashion.” I smiled at her, watching her face light up, and then quickly continued before she could regain the upper hand. “In fact, one of the reasons I’ve been standing out here was because I wanted to get my courage up, to ask someone who knows a lot about it for some tips. I think I’m ready now. I’m ready to learn!”</p><p>“Well, it’s not something that can exactly be learned overnight, especially in a case as...remedial as yours.” She put on an innocent face, eyes glinting as her friends began to chuckle over whatever hilarious joke she was leading up to. “But I suppose I-”</p><p>“Oh I wasn’t talking about you.” I cut her off, relishing the moment as her face fell. Instead of thinking about her anger, I thought about the look on Mom and Dad’s faces, when I had put on my new jacket and hugged them both. I wasn’t using the power, I was just using my own memories to overcome my worries. Emma’s attempt to retake the conversation fell flat, and I snidely added. “You obviously don’t know as much as you think, and someone who can’t admit when they’re wrong isn’t someone I trust to teach me anything.”</p><p>
  <em> Now comes the hard part. Deep breath, turn, and… </em>
</p><p>“Later, girls. I’m going to ask some real experts.” I waved dismissively at them, then opened the door to the clothing store and entered. I sauntered up to the front desk, taking my time so it didn’t look like I was running, and not looking behind myself no matter how much I wanted to.</p><p>Inside was a spacious, oddly relaxed area, various mannequins and racks set up to show off clothing in the most extravagant lighting, colors, and materials possible. Victoria was off to my left, having just stepped into what looked like a changing area, and aside from a few other women at the opposite end of the store the place was oddly empty for this time of day.</p><p>
  <em> I also can’t help but notice that they’re all watching me. Nice entrance. Stay calm. </em>
</p><p>“Can I help you?” I stopped my inspection of the store and looked across the checkout counter (an impressive swooping thing made of shiny marble) at the clerk, who was looking at me with an odd expression on her face. I stole a glance at her nametag (Ren), then gave an easygoing smile.</p><p>“Sure thing Ren, I was actually hoping to get a bit of advice.” I pretended to look around the store, as if checking out the latest styles, leaning on the counter and trying to look as casual as possible. I smiled at one of the women across the store, then added, “I actually know very little about fashion, but was hoping that I could get some tips from an expert. One of the girls out there claimed to be one, but she’s also a horrible human being, so…”</p><p>“We might be able to help with that, but...you do know that this is a women’s clothing store, right?” I startled, nearly sliding off the counter (in my defense, that swoopy thing made it hard to find purchase...heh, purchase) before I caught myself. I turned to face Ren, and saw that she had a full-blown grin on her face now. “I mean, I’m the last one to call someone out on dressing different from what society expects, so I can probably steer you in the right direction.”</p><p>“Well, that is...the thing about that is…” I stared at Ren, in shock.</p><p>“Hey, Ren, this dude giving you trouble?” I heard Victoria’s voice behind me, but didn’t even turn around. “Want me to maybe show him the door?”</p><p>“Nah, I can handle it Vicky. I think he actually wants to learn about fashion, but may have bitten off more than he can chew. You got a few minutes to kill for a crash course in clothes?”</p><p>“You kidding?” Victoria laughed, and I heard a noise that sounded a lot like her slamming one fist into her other palm. “Between the two of us girls, he’ll be lucky to survive!”</p><p>Victoria’s words made me want to turn and make a funny comment, but I didn’t. </p><p>My own cape-geekdom made me want to turn and thank a hero I love, but I didn’t.</p><p>What had happened with Emma made me want to turn and explain myself, but I didn’t.</p><p>Hell, even Ren’s grin made me want to escape a little…but I didn’t.</p><p>I just kept staring straight ahead, at Ren.</p><p>More specifically, at her parahuman <em> powers </em>.</p><p>*****************</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Well, Greg wanted an expert, and now he’s got two! Hopefully that confidence he picked up from Victoria helps, but it seems like there’s more than just confidence attached to her power. Also, who’s this other parahuman, what’s her deal?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. 2.2: Dealing With Fashion</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: There’s talk of powers and how they work in this chapter, and it’s more a matter of Greg (or me) theorycrafting than anything really concrete or backed up by canon. Within the realm of this story, this is just two non-experts talking and bouncing ideas off each other, having fun talking about parahumans with their limited knowledge and experiences. In a fic about emotions, feelings, and powers, this was going to happen sooner or later.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>GstringGirl: </b>so I have a question! something for you to work on.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Fire away. </p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>way back in 1.1 you said that Greg wears/collects cape merch...and that’s it</p><p><b>Me:</b> So? That’s all he has. A lot of collectible cape stuff and then he wears the same 5 outfits.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>that’s so lazy! you need more detail, and nobody really does that!</p><p><b>Me:</b> what, wearing the same thing all the time? If he wore the collector stuff, it’d lose value!</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>not just that, you need to describe his fashion sense. Give him some new clothes.</p><p><b>Me:</b> ...that’s a really good point. I should really update his wardrobe at some point.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Problem. I know absolutely jack shit about fashion.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Therefore, Greg knows jack shit about fashion.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>it can’t possibly be that bad, got any pics?</p><p><b>Me:</b> Here, I’m sending over a few pictures of me (therefore Greg), with the head clipped off.</p><p><b>Me:</b> First pic is when I learned that stripes should all go one way. Not a great school picture day.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Second pic was when I thought it would be cool to wear leather <em> everything </em>. It was summer.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Third pic is from my love affair with corduroy and flannel. At the same time. Loud clothing.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Finally, the last pic is me this morning. I am the human avatar of cape merch.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Hello?</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>sorry, I slammed my head into my desk hoping my eyes would pop out. No luck.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Oh come on, it’s not that bad. I just have...eclectic tastes. </p><p><b>GstringGirl:</b> seek professional help, dude...or even part-time intern help. FAST</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 26, 2010] </b>
</p><p>Ever have a day where you aren’t sure you’re dreaming?</p><p>If you had told me that today would have started with me admiring myself in a mirror, then facing off with Emma Barnes in front of her entourage, and finally having a conversation about fashion with Glory Girl...well, I probably would have called you crazy.</p><p>
  <em> Although, given the fact that I met a trio of supervillains who helped me save Christmas a few days ago, maybe this is just my life now? </em>
</p><p>Indeed, I was standing in a high-end clothing store, being grilled by Brockton Bay’s own maskless Alexandria package, Glory Girl. Called that because of her incredible strength, flight, and invulnerability, I was understandably nervous about being crushed. The expression on her face right now was anything but grim, though...rather, it was mirthful. She had a reputation as a member of New Wave for being intelligent, strong, and with a beautiful laugh.</p><p>“So, Greg, you seriously thought that the getup you’re in right now was high-fashion?” Victoria burst out into giggles again, and I found myself hard-pressed to do anything but chuckle as well. “I mean, maybe at a comic convention, sure, but you basically just covered yourself in cape merch. That’s like someone claiming that they’re really into meat, so they covered themselves in bacon from head to toe.”</p><p>“I think you’re being a bit unfair to Greg, Vicky. Why, I’ve heard that there’s actually a singer on Earth Aleph who does stuff like that for performance art.” I glanced at the other member of our conversation, the sales clerk of this store, Ren. </p><p>
  <em> No wait, she’s the owner. She said that earlier.  Business must be good, this place is huge! </em>
</p><p>Ren had mentioned that despite owning the store (and thinking of opening another in Boston), she still enjoyed working here on big sale days. She talked as if I was going to become a regular customer, despite having just met me (and me being a guy), and spoke animatedly about her business. Her confidence impressed me, and I found myself being drawn in by her words.</p><p>She was a few inches taller than me, easily a few years my senior, and had an easygoing grace to her...looking like she had the toned muscles of an acrobat. Her expression was far less teasing than Victoria’s, and it almost looked like she was appraising me somehow. Add in her blouse and skirt combo (that was probably expensive as heck), and it was hard to look away.</p><p>
  <em> Oh, and she also seems to be a parahuman. So there’s that as well. Odd powers though... </em>
</p><p>“Right, right, I was just poking fun.” Victoria’s hand grabbed my arm and she dragged me away. I was so busy trying to look at Ren’s powers (without looking like a creep) that I was off-balance enough to travel half the store before I was walking under my own power. The fact that Victoria could bench press a car might also have had something to do with it. “C’mon, lover boy, let me whisper in your ear...in private. Before that, though, I need some background on your deal.”</p><p>Normally I’d have been a gibbering mess if one of the hottest capes in the Bay had taken my arm and led me into a dim corner for some ‘secret advice.’ But that would’ve been a Greg Veder who wasn’t currently rocking one of Victoria’s own powers. Bipolar Tornado, as I called it, was her Love/Fear Me Aura. It had also given me a bit of her personality, so I felt a confidence and joy that seemed to increase as more people paid attention to me.</p><p><em> I could get used to this personality. Goodbye nerves from being looked at! I can take it all. </em> </p><p>Over the next several minutes, I gave Victoria a rundown of my current situation, and why I had hoped that dressing better might assist in my attempts to improve my...everything. I figured that I lacked the confidence (most of the time) to weather the teasing I got from standing out so much, so maybe dressing better might get me more compliments and less...bullying. Victoria got oddly serious at that last part, and then placed a hand on my shoulder and said she’d help me.</p><p>
  <em> Oh man, that’s a warm feeling. Keep it together, Greg. Also, no using that power! </em>
</p><p>I actually had to fight to keep a tight hold on Bipolar Tornado, since it felt like it was going to surge out of control at any time thanks to the emotions of happiness going through me. I’d already realized that strong emotions could trigger it, and the last thing I wanted to do was accidentally hit Victoria with her own power. Not just because she might crush me out of happiness...but also because afterwards she’d do it out of revenge.</p><p>Luckily I managed to hold it together, and she soon released me to dig some magazines out of a box in the corner. Over the next several minutes she gave me a rundown of some universal tips for colors and patterns (or, “Victoria’s Secrets,” as she called them with a sultry wink) that I had to understand before anything else. I took it all in, making notes on the pad I had started carrying around ever since my last Thinker Blackout with Lisa’s power.</p><p>I nearly lost control again as Victoria brushed up against me by accident, and had to slap a hand over my mouth to stop her attitude from making me say something fairly inappropriate. I tried to play it off as me holding a sneeze in, but she was nothing if not insightful and started smiling. Victoria appeared ready to say something, but was interrupted by her phone ringing.</p><p>
  <em> While she’s distracted, I should drop her power. Or better yet...why not grab one from Ren? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She seems nice, so aside from being snarky...no major personality worries. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>Looking away as Victoria started chatting with someone named “Dean,” I turned and looked for the aforementioned Ren. The sales clerk was hanging a few blouses across the store, but I was able to see the same haze I always saw on parahumans. Moments later, it cleared away and I found myself looking at yet another unique set of powers...with an even odder theme.</p><p>
  <em> Seriously, who is this? None of these powers make any sense! Is she from out of town? </em>
</p><p>There were four powers, and their theme seemed to be...discs, maybe?</p><p>The first power was like a flat pane of circular glass, slowly rotating within Ren. At first I thought it was some kind of shield, but upon closer inspection I could see that only one side was opaque...the other was actually transparent. As if it was a window into another world, so maybe it was some kind of portal power? Or a way to pass through solid objects?</p><p>The second power was more like a dartboard, or maybe a circle that had a dartboard on it? If I didn’t know any better, I almost would have said it was a targeting reticule. The center of it (the bulls-eye) always seemed to be looking right at me, no matter how it rotated, and I could see it flickering on and off as Ren tossed up and down, catching it without looking. An aiming power?</p><p>The third power appeared to be an egg more than a circle, or at least more three dimensional and lopsided than the other two had been. Much like the dartboard, it was rolling, spinning, and moving around inside Ren, but no matter how it changed it always seemed to be right side up. I saw it activate as Ren nearly tripped over a skirt a patron had left on the floor, and barely a hint of annoyance or worry went across her face as she spun around and regained her balance.</p><p>The last power was a circle that felt warm, but was inactive. That was it.</p><p>
  <em> Portals, good aim, balance, and warmth...nope, I’m drawing a blank. </em>
</p><p>The last one might be fire for all I knew, and fire might have been bad in a clothing store, and I didn’t trust myself to have a power that might make me fall through the floor. Nothing like accidental arson or passing through solid objects to get me outed as a cape! I also wasn’t sure the balance power would be good after how clumsy I’d been up until now, so I reached for-</p><p>“I know Ren’s cute, but I think she prefers lovers who can at least drink, sweetie.” Victoria’s voice whispered in my ear, and I felt her Aura start to overwhelm my control of the Bipolar Tornado. I quickly grabbed Ren’s Dartboard, slamming it into my core just as my own emotion aura started to ooze out of me. Victoria’s voice got huskier, her hand stroking my shoulder, and she whispered, “But maybe I can help you...um...hey are you okay?”</p><p>I didn’t answer her, as I was suddenly struck with a whole host of anxiety at getting caught looking, worry that she was on to me, fear of her anger, rage at myself, and more. I felt my body clench up, and clamped my eyes and jaw shut as the emotions warred within me. </p><p>“Greg? Hey, can you hear me?” I heard her voice, but it sounded like it was coming from far away. “Shit...shit shit shit! Damn power, why do you always-”</p><p>I knew that this was from the Bipolar Tornado wearing off, but it still felt like I could barely think. I was breathing fast, and felt my fingernails digging into my palms. I tried to focus. It took a few moments, but I managed to get under control, breathing slowly and finally saying, “I’m fine.”</p><p>Luckily, Victoria seemed to have lost her train of thought from the little bit of Awe I’d given off, and was silent. I would have thought she was immune to her own power, but maybe not? I still turned back around to see her looking down at her knees, both hands clenched into fists. She looked up at me, and I was surprised to see her eyes glistening a little.</p><p>
  <em> What? How the hell did I do that? Did my aura make her sad? But the power was gone! </em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry, Greg.” She finally ground out, gingerly putting a hand on my shoulder, as if it was going to break me. “I really need to work on controlling my Aura more, and didn’t realize...it could drive someone to have a panic attack. After what you said about the crap you get at school, and what that redhead was doing to you outside the store, I should have known better than to tease. I’m really, <em> really </em> sorry. I can leave, if you…”</p><p>“I...uh…” I trailed off, as it suddenly hit me what she was talking about.</p><p>
  <em> Oh. She thought I was having a panic attack because of her power. Well, she was half right. </em>
</p><p>“It’s okay.” I gave her a reassuring smile, finding it coming to my lips easily. Ren’s personality wasn’t entirely clear yet, but she seemed to have a sort of “roll with the punches” sort of feel to her. Sort of like I felt...detached? It was hard to say. If nothing else, it felt great after the storm of emotion that had been blazing through me moments earlier. “No harm, no foul.”</p><p>“Nah, I really need to be better about that sort of thing.” She wiped her eyes with a tissue from her purse, then smiled and sighed at me. “I’m not exactly a pro at controlling it, but stuff like this makes me think...I should try harder. Criminals are one thing, but civilians? I can’t go around giving people heart attacks, especially not fans and...I have to be better.”</p><p>I looked at her carefully, and saw that even now the Bipolar Tornado actually seemed a lot calmer than it had been before. When she’d been shopping and teaching me, it had mostly been on the Awe form, but now I could see it had changed to some sort of...middle form. </p><p>
  <em> I need to calm her down, to take her mind off this...or better yet, to feel good about her powers. </em>
</p><p>There were a few theories that had been bouncing around in my head for the last several minutes, especially since this was my first emotion-based power. The internet could only do so much, and I’d nearly made a disaster of it earlier with Emma’s goons. Maybe I could kill two birds with one stone, and make Victoria feel like a star while answering my questions?</p><p>“Actually, if you’d be willing, I had a question for you about that. I’d heard that you were taking college courses related to parahuman study, and I had a theory about your powers.” I was starting to get a read on Ren’s personality now. It wasn’t <em>not caring what others thought</em>, it was more like <em>not being afraid of their reactions </em>or knowing how to talk to people to get what I wanted. Finesse instead of force. “I figured that you really know your stuff, so obviously you’d be the best person to answer. I mean, if you can spare a few minutes?”</p><p>
  <em> If nothing else, I can take her mind off what just happened...and get some valuable insight! </em>
</p><p>Instantly I saw the Tornado shift back to Awe, but Victoria clamped down on it this time. She was smiling, and gave me an inscrutable look, her mood already rising as she had my full attention.</p><p>“I know you’re just trying to cheer me up.” She giggled as I blushed. “But I never pass up an opportunity to talk about myself, or geek out about parahumans. So let’s do this!” </p><p>***</p><p>I gave her an explanation, though purposefully vague because of the source (my own powers), of how it seemed like her Aura power was actually two powers mashed together. How it appeared as though her own emotions were influencing them, with stronger ones activating her Awe (with happiness) and Fear (with anger) based on what she felt for those causing them. Finally, I closed with my newly created theory that the reason it was so hard to control was because of how difficult it was for her to keep her mind clear of those two emotions.</p><p>“Not bad.” She grinned at me, giving a small golf clap, and then added, “But not all right, either.”</p><p>I deflated a bit at that, mostly for show, and she laughed before patting me on the shoulder.</p><p>“Aw, don’t get too down on yourself. For a cape-geek it was a really good attempt, but there’s some psych and personal stuff you don’t know that puts big holes in your theory.”</p><p>I sat back, notepad in my lap and pen at the ready, and she gave me a nod before explaining.</p><p>“First of all, Awe and Fear aren’t just activated by one emotion each, nor are they really Awe and Fear at all. In fact, I’ve come to realize that my Aura works more along the lines of my own needs, and pushes a ‘shotgun’ of emotions out to cause the reactions that my subconscious thinks will give me those types of feedback. It actually sends out several emotions, but their reaction and memories determine what people call it...and what they remember afterwards.”</p><p>“So, for instance, when someone is threatening you, your power throws out feelings like fear, shame, horror, disgust, and so on.” I tested the waters, getting an approving look in return. “They get hit with all of those, maybe even remembering experiences of their own when such feelings were strong, and it makes them fall or flee. Afterwards, they call it a Fear Aura.”</p><p>“More or less correct, and it’s the same for Awe. They get hit with a blast of good feelings, recall memories related to them, see me, and then later on they think I made them love me.” She rolled her eyes, then scratched at the side of her neck with one perfectly manicured nail. “Or at least that’s my current theory. What I really need is to take higher level psych courses, but Mom won’t let me take any more college classes until...well, that’s neither here nor there.”</p><p> “So if that’s the case, then doesn’t that mean that with the right training you could send out individual emotions?” I waved a hand, then stabbed it forwards as though hitting a target. “Or maybe learn to only hit specific targets, instead of everyone nearby?”</p><p>“To the first question, yes. Someday.” Victoria started to list things off her fingers. “But humans are made of hundreds of emotions, and learning that kind of focus would take me a lot of time...that I just don’t have with my schedule in school, New Wave, and everything else. For right now, I’m going to have to keep using the shotgun method, because I don’t have time...”</p><p>“True, you probably couldn’t get there alone...but what if someone helped you? I mean, you said it yourself: New Wave.You have support...family.” I had seen her face fall as she listed all the responsibilities in her life, but then she perked right up when I made the suggestion. After a few moments, she nodded to herself, as if making a mental note. </p><p>“As for the aiming thing, well, that’s another subject entirely! See, each power is unique to the person who holds it, based on their actual personality, needs, wants, dreams, and more!” I deliberately didn’t chime in, knowing that I actually had in-depth knowledge of how powers linked to personalities...but having no way to explain its source. Instead, I just nodded and pretended to take a few more notes. Well, actually I did take notes. This was interesting! </p><p>“I grew up with my whole family watching me, and the eyes of the world, too! So my power takes that into account, because I always had a need to be validated, respected, and seen. Therefore, it affects people all around me, because I want to be seen and known by as many as possible.”</p><p>
  <em> It checks out. I felt confidence with people watching me when I had her Bipolar Tornado. </em>
</p><p>“Meanwhile, another hero I know with emotion powers, Ga...er, Gaultier. He’s French, you see.” She cleared her throat, looking nervous for a moment before continuing. “Anyway, he wants to help people individually, and to make them understand things through careful dialog. But when he first got them, he was afraid of public speaking. So his powers require him to affect people individually and can’t be used as some sort of multi-person blast.”</p><p>“Can he do the individual emotions thing?”</p><p>“Yes, but also I think that’s because when he was younger he had a much better understanding of his own emotions. He had a good upbringing, stable home life, and so on. Therefore, he can focus on individual feelings, and send them out to people. I had a much more chaotic life and had big, powerful emotions, so…”</p><p>“I think I understand.” I could tell she was starting to get a bit tired, but whether that was Ren’s personality telling me that she was running out of steam or my own understanding of how a person can only talk for so long, I wasn’t sure. Either way, I didn’t want her to have to be the one to end this conversation. “I’ve probably taken up enough of your time. Thanks a lot!”</p><p>“Anytime!” She smiled, and this time I didn’t even have to feel her aura to know that my grin was genuine. She stood and gathered her clothes, then headed up to check out...stopping after a moment. “Oh, I almost forgot, let me write down some reading for you. Toss me the pen and pad.”</p><p>Without even thinking about it, I chucked both at her, feeling the power engage as I did so. It wasn’t perfect, but the distance wasn’t that great either, and each landed in her hand with a minimum of flapping paper. She winked at me, and then started writing something under my notes, flipping the page at one point to add something else on the next page.</p><p>I walked over to join her, and saw that she had listed off what looked like several fashion magazines, a few books on the psychology of parahuman powers, and a few websites with hot tips. On the next page, she was writing, “To Greg, thanks for being a fun date, Glory Girl.”</p><p>After a signature I was familiar with, she handed both back to me, and then went to check out her purchases and leave. As she walked away, I was struck with an interesting idea. </p><p>Maybe because I had Ren’s power influencing me, or perhaps even my own curiosity after our talk, I reached out with my power and <em> touched Bipolar Tornado and Dartboard. They blended... </em></p><p>
  <em> Okay, so now I should have some kind of targeted emotion thing, if my theory was right. </em>
</p><p>Looking at it, inside of myself, I noticed something like a gun connected to a strange reservoir. I couldn’t help but think that it reminded me of a squirt gun, except that instead of being filled with water it was...an emotion. As I continued to be curious about it, I somehow <em> knew </em> that it was filled with Curiosity. As I continued to wonder, it reached a limit. Now what?</p><p>
  <em> Well, if it’s a squirt gun, then I guess I shoot it. Since it’s what I feel, it’s like Targeted Empathy.  </em>
</p><p>My copy of Victoria’s Aura had managed a range of about ten feet, and I knew that her original version could go for at least forty, so like a child playing with a toy gun I took aim at a store mannequin and pretended to shoot. Just to test the targeting, more than anything. </p><p>Unfortunately, as I was shooting at the dummy, my gaze wandered a bit, and I recognized Julia North from among Emma’s entourage outside the store. I was so surprised that I hadn’t noticed a familiar face earlier that I didn’t even realize it as my finger hit my mental “trigger” and <em> Targeted Empathy </em>went off straight at her, an emotion streaming invisibly at the girl. </p><p>For a moment I thought that nothing had happened. It was through glass, she was at least forty feet away, so I think I could be excused for thinking that nothing would happen. Then a second passed, and that went right out the window (along with the power, no pun intended).</p><p>The effect was almost immediate. </p><p>With nothing more than a slight glance from me, Julia appeared to be overcome with interest in what we were doing, pressing herself up against the glass and trying to see inside. I hadn’t even realized that I was still pressing the trigger, and that I had been <em> really curious </em> if this power being focused would do anything. </p><p>
  <em> Shit! Who cares if it was an accident, it was still my finger on the trigger...I have to stop this! </em>
</p><p>Panicking at having actually hit her, I turned off the power and the stream of <em> Curiosity </em> stopped bombarding Julia. A few moments later I saw her silently smoothing out her clothes as the others laughed. Embarrassed at the attention, she turned and walked off for a little to stew. </p><p>It was hard to feel bad, but I had to remind myself once again that <em> testing new and potentially harmful powers </em> on <em> civilians </em> was <em> bad. </em> I resolved to check my aim better in the future.</p><p>
  <em> Good thing I’m not doing the villain thing. This power would be way too easy to abuse. </em>
</p><p>Just like Victoria was going to work on being better with her powers, I <em> had </em>to do the same.</p><p>My attention was torn away from the spectacle as the bell over the door let out a chime. I looked up to see that Victoria had left, with several fancy bags under her arms, and waved back at her before it closed. I turned to face Ren, who seemed delighted that I was still in her shop and who was beckoning me to come closer.</p><p>***</p><p>“Well, now that Vicky’s had her way with you, it’s time for me to take my turn.” Ren wiggled her eyebrows at me, and to my credit I didn’t even blush. </p><p>“If she couldn’t handle me, what makes you think that you can?” I grinned and we shared a laugh that would have been impossible if I didn’t have the personalities of an outgoing heroine and an unflappable store owner pressing on my own. “I’m game if you are, though.”</p><p>With the number of customers dwindling, probably due to lunchtime, Ren joined me and gave me an oddly detailed explanation of some slightly more affordable men’s fashions. She’d noticed that I wasn’t exactly swimming in cash (the “wear the same 5 outfits” thing), and even had a few good low-cost ideas that could save me both time and money for different occasions.</p><p>“Wow, you know a lot about men’s fashion, Ren.” I smiled, paying a compliment and hoping that it didn’t come off as me hitting on her. Victoria’s earlier words were still in my mind, and although I found Ren attractive there was <em> way </em> too much going on in my life for that right now. “I guess when you work in this industry, you pick things up for both sides, huh?”</p><p>“Well, it’s safer to say I’ve lived on both sides, Greg. I’m very...fluid like that.” She winked at me, and I paused as the conversation seemed to slide off into silence. Perhaps taking pity on what must have been some kind of subtle hint I was completely missing, she added, “Ren is short for Karen, at the moment, but sometimes it’s short for Darren.”</p><p>
  <em> Oh, she’s genderfluid. Okay. Probably a good thing I’m not 100% Greg at the moment, or I might have said something dumb.  </em>
</p><p>“Got it, sorry to make you spell it out. I’m still kind of dumb about a lot of things.” </p><p>“No biggie.” She waved it away, and then went on to give me a few extra notes, as well as some books I might like. I commented on how I had no idea how I was going to pay for all these, even with her tips, and that made Ren snap her fingers. “Oh, that reminds me! I have a great way for you to make money. You said you collect a lot of cape stuff you’re afraid to wear, right?”</p><p>“Collector’s items, clothing, figurines, posters...most of it I still have in the original packaging.”</p><p>“Great, so why not sell some of it?” Ren smiled at me, looking like it was the most obvious thing in the world. My face must have dropped, because she looked a bit hurt. “What? Why not?”</p><p>“Well, because I started collecting it all for a reason!” I felt calmer than usual, but this was still something important to me, so I felt a bit miffed. I had been collecting this stuff since I was barely old enough to walk, I think. It was only when I hit seven or eight that I started actually storing it, but even then the concept of saving up my allowance for weeks to be that much closer to having all the figures, cards, or parts of a whole had been a part of me for years. “Just selling it would feel like I was giving up a part of my life, and why I had started in the first place.”</p><p>“Why did you start in the first place?”</p><p>“Well, I suppose it comes down to me being inspired by heroes, by parahumans as a whole, really. I loved the promise of them, the versatility and hope that they carried with their very existence.” I put a finger to my chin, drawing back upon my memories of childhood. The fact that Ren was watching me intently (as well as a few other customers) made the part of me that was Victoria more confident, and I continued. “I wanted to support them, to be able to show everyone else that I was a fan of what they stood for, and to remind myself to live up to their examples of understanding, sharing, and teamwork.”</p><p>“But that’s not really how it is anymore, is it?” Ren held up her hands, maybe because I’d tossed a glare her way, and I forced myself to soften my expression. “I mean, no offense, but even if you still support them with your whole heart, the other stuff has fallen off.”</p><p>I just cocked my head at her, and she sighed. Speaking slowly, kindly, she explained.</p><p>“You wear the same few sets of clothes until they fall apart, aside from a few things like that jacket or hat. You keep most of your collectibles in plastic and boxes, so nobody knows you have them but you. Everyone knows you’re a fan, but from what you said they just tease you...because you keep worrying about what they think. Finally, rather than living up to your heroes’ examples you became a collector and hoarded it all to yourself.”</p><p>“But I still try to live up the their-”</p><p>“Not from what I saw outside the shop a bit ago.” Ren shook her head, glaring out the window at Emma and her girls. “Sure, you stood up to that redhead who was bullying you for a moment, but in the end you just let her win. You backed down, didn’t try to get help, and just gave up.”</p><p>“So what, you think I should have fought her in the streets? Maybe that if I sold my collection I’d have the money to...what, hire friends to help me overcome her?”</p><p>“No, I think that if you weren’t so worried about your collection, so afraid of what people were going to say about you, so nervous about being wrong, ugly, or badly dressed...then you’d be a lot happier.” She smiled, winking at me. “Also, I’m not just saying that because I work part time as a fence for certain goods and would be willing to do it for a small commission.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know. You’re trying to help, even if I’m not happy to hear a lot of what you’re saying.” I sighed, thinking about just how much stuff I had. It had never really crossed my mind to sell any of it. Sure, it could probably help me get better clothes, but I might even be able to use it for more than that. Tinker tools, costume gear, a better computer...but did I really want to give it up? “I guess it was silly of me to think that having someone’s face on my shirt would inspire anyone.”</p><p>Ren sighed, rubbing a hand across her face. Then gave herself a little bonk on the side of her head before looking at me with something resembling regret in her eyes.</p><p>“Sorry, I just got you all bummed out, Greg. That’s on me. Look, I can’t claim to be an expert on philosophy or anything, but I do live a pretty minimalist life because I...don’t really get attached to people or objects.” She shrugged, as if it wasn’t worth explaining or arguing with her own nature. “That gives me a unique perspective, but I guess it can come off kind of…”</p><p>
  <em> Great, now I’m the asshole. I came in here to get help, then got mad when I didn’t like it. </em>
</p><p>“No, it’s okay. I came to you for advice, after all.” I bit my tongue, wincing at the pain, then tried again. “What I mean is, even if I don’t like what you say, I shouldn’t get mad at you for saying it.”</p><p>“In that case, mind if I give you a bit of life advice, without you asking how I came across it?” She looked off into the distance, clenching a fist, and although I wanted nothing more than to ask why she’d say something so strange I still found myself nodding silently.</p><p>“Greg, I think that if someone really inspires you, the best thing you can do is try to live up their example...but also to follow in their footsteps by setting your own. Maybe by selling some stuff that doesn’t do anything for you, you can buy other things you’ll find more useful. You’ll always have the memories of the past, and now you’d also have new things that might help you out in the future.” She rolled her eyes, then waved a hand around the store as though presenting it to me. “But what do I know, right? Only a business owner selling high-quality clothes at age 22.”</p><p>“A business owner who <em> really </em>wants me to sell her my clothes and collectibles.” I laughed, taking one of the business cards off her desk and making a show of slipping it in my pocket. “I can’t help but think you have an ulterior motive besides just inspiring me to dress better.”</p><p>“Of course!” She handed me another slip of paper with the hours she planned to be at the store over the next week, but also promised that her other employees could reach her in a pinch. She seemed so certain I would call... “Repeat customers have to start somewhere, right?”</p><p>We both chuckled at that, and I wished her a good afternoon before heading out.</p><p>I had some new ideas, and really wanted to get home. I couldn’t help but think I was forgetting about something though, and was so caught up in my plans that I bumped into someone.</p><p>“Watch where you’re going...Veder? What, now you’re trying to knock me over or something? Also, what the hell were you thinking earlier, trying to snub me?”</p><p>
  <em> Ah, of course. Emma Barnes. I wish I could forget her, but…actually, maybe this is a blessing. </em>
</p><p>“Oh hey, Emma, I completely forgot about you.” Her face twisted, and I added, “Got a minute?”</p><p>
  <em> She’s hot shit against Greg, but how about Greg with Ren and Victoria in his corner? </em>
</p><p>She didn’t stand a chance.</p><p>*****************</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Another showdown between Greg and Emma. He has several secret weapons she doesn’t know about...but maybe he won’t need any of them to win?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: It’s fun to write a version of Victoria that isn’t just a Fashion-savvy Brute. I haven’t read most of Ward, but people tell me she’s much more intellectual in that one...so I’m probably not too far off from canon making her this smart. Although I’ll admit that her near slip-up of Gallant (Gaultier) was named for Jean Paul Gaultier, a French fashion designer and the first fashion-related name I found starting with the letters GA. The brain goes with what it knows!</p><p>Also, as many people guessed in comments, Ren is indeed Circus. Greg will probably figure it out soon, but for now he’s learning some other important lessons. I know that Circus is a parahuman cat burglar, but I like to think that working as a fence and business owner seemed to fit. It gives them inside info via rich customers, a great alibi, and access to high-end parties. It also means that they can talk to Greg about his own material goods, and why he keeps them!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. 2.3: Dealing With My Brother</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>GstringGirl: </b>why don’t you want me to fix the all the dumb character stuff in early chapters?</p><p><b>Me:</b> I just think knowing that he went from a kid who made a dumb choices and mistakes…</p><p><b>Me:</b> ...to a badass who is taking responsibility for those mistakes has more payoff, y’know? </p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>eh, your fic. speaking of early chapters...how does Greg not get George?</p><p><b>Me:</b> I think he gets him pretty well. Is there something else coming across in the writing? </p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Greg keeps doing dumb stuff and assuming his brother hates him, so...yes.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Okay, fair enough. I guess they’ve always had a complex relationship of love and hate</p><p><b>Me:</b> every time something brings them together, something else finds a way to tear them apart</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>so they’re like every set of siblings in fiction. so original! </p><p><b>GstringGirl:</b> j/k, lol</p><p><b>GstringGirl:</b> but seriously, if Greg really wants to have a support network...why not George?</p><p><b>Me:</b> What, you think he should turn to the brother he’s been fighting with this whole time?</p><p><b>Me: </b>the jerk who shows him up at every opportunity, who knows him better than anyone?</p><p><b>Me:</b> who always has to point out his every failure and screw-up?</p><p><b>Me:</b> the guy who...actually stood up for Greg at Christmas...when he didn’t have to…</p><p><b>Me:</b> Huh.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>it’s so easy when you make all my points for me, thanks</p><p><b>Me:</b> I...wish I could give you a raise. One problem with this plan:</p><p><b>Me:</b> Greg really pissed George off last time they were alone. That doesn’t just go away.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>eh, I’m sure with some fancy writing and the power of brotherly love…</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>you just need to think about what they have in common, then get them to talk</p><p><b>Me:</b> Couldn’t I just have Greg copy Purity’s powers and blast George off the face of the Earth?</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>well, do you want to have a murderfic, or a tale of brothers supporting each other?</p><p><b>Me:</b> ...can I have both?</p><p>
  <b>&lt;GstringGirl has Disconnected from the Chat&gt;</b>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 26, 2010] </b>
</p><p>“Well, Veder?” Emma snarled at me, leaning in close as if I was having trouble hearing her. “You got something to say to me? Got some kind of problem?”</p><p>A small crowd had stopped on the sidewalk, probably figuring that I was either about to get dumped by a girl way too pretty for me or that they might have to step in and “defend her honor.” Emma was playing it up to the crowd, catching eyes and obviously trying to start something. She wanted me to get physical, to get angry, to become the villain in this situation...</p><p>
  <em> Is this really the same Emma I used to try and talk to? The one everyone’s afraid of? </em>
</p><p>Emma Barnes and I had never really gotten along. She always had to poke me, and I always wanted to do something (but was too afraid to try, usually). That never stopped me from daydreaming about what I’d do if I was ever brave enough to try and get back at her.</p><p>My default revenge plans against Emma Barnes had changed over the years, and that’s mostly because the things she did to make me think she <em> deserved </em> revenge changed as well. She got worse, and in turn I made more creative and extravagant ways to “fight back.”</p><p>For instance, in junior high she was bad, but I can see now that a lot of it was reactionary. I was probably pretty annoying and stubborn, and she used her growing Social Powers to get bigger kids to hit me or rip up my homework as a result. My daydreams at the time were usually about tripping her to fall face-first into her lunch tray, or maybe moving out of the way so her hired bullies would hit <em> her </em> by accident. Something that would make her understand the humiliation I’d felt, damage her social standing.</p><p>But in high school, most especially in the last year, she had become <em> proactive </em>, and started shit with no apparent reasoning behind it. I once overheard her saying that she just wanted to help people “toughen up” or “find the strength,” but I knew that was bullshit. I had seen the look on her face, the glee that appeared when she’d watch someone have their day ruined. </p><p>Then there was Taylor. Her former best friend. Not only was Emma tormenting the closest thing I’d had to a friend for over a year, practically daring someone to try and stop her, but she had been inspiring others. More and more kids were starting to bully, tease, and just plain mistreat those smaller and weaker than them. They loved using that label…”weak.” It was dumb.</p><p>It was the sort of thing that made me wish we had a parahuman at our school, so they would stand up to her or tell the authorities. Now that we actually did have one, I didn’t have to worry about telling them...because it was me. Not only that, but Emma had played a part in my Trigger, since my near-death at the hands of Knife Guy had been due to her direct actions.</p><p>“Are you ignoring me now? Think that a girl like me talking to a dweeb like you isn’t like the hand of God coming down to brighten your day?” Emma smirked, leaning closer as the crowd made noises. She whispered, “Maybe you’d prefer I was a nazi or something?” </p><p>“Nah, you’re bad enough.” I barely even blinked at her, Ren’s detachment and Victoria’s confidence working against her. I didn’t care what she was saying, didn’t feel threatened by her, and having all these people watching was making me feel <em> great </em>. “Although I’ll bet at least they don’t treat their friends like shit. Probably smell better, too.”</p><p>That seemed to piss Emma off, and she threw a hand at me. I was ready this time, having seen the exact same move an hour earlier, and just stepped back as she whiffed. The crowd let out a loud noise, and I just gave her a lazy smile. She didn’t follow it up with another swing, and it occurred to me that without Sophia or her entourage, Emma was all talk.</p><p>
  <em> Compared to Victoria and Ren, Emma’s just an angry little girl. A queen bee with no hive. </em>
</p><p>She was still talking, spinning lies and rumors about me as the crowd laughed and jeered, but I’d already tuned her out. Thinking about the time I’d just spent in the clothing store was making me realize I could actually fight back now. In fact, I could beat her with something she’d always lorded over me before...connections and knowledge.</p><p>
  <em> And unlike my counterattack on Lung, this is one that won’t get me killed. Well, not physically  </em>
</p><p>Months ago, I might have been afraid to do something like this, knowing that my social standing at school would become permanently locked into the negatives by actively opposing Emma. But now, even without Ren and Victoria’s personalities, I realized that was no reason not to stand up. Who cared about my standing in a school that I’d be leaving in a few years? I’d always have the memories of knowing that I could have stood up, and hadn’t, and would blame myself.</p><p>
  <em> Besides, what kind of hero is afraid to stand up to a villain? </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>“Hey Emma, sorry that I just ran out on you like that.” My words interrupted her, and her expression turned to one of nonchalance. She probably thought I was about to grovel, but I was actually going in a different direction. “Actually, there was something that just occurred to me.”</p><p>“What, that you should take this chance to get down on your knees and apologize?”</p><p>
  <em> Yep, called it. Sorry Emma, but with Ren and Victoria on my side, I’ve got something better! </em>
</p><p>“You’ve been standing here waiting for me this whole time, haven’t you?” I grinned.</p><p>
  <em> Wait a moment, watch her breathe in, and then...interrupt! </em>
</p><p>“Jealous! That’s what you are, isn’t it? You envy the fact that <em> I </em> just spent an hour having a conversation with a fashionista you look up to, instead of <em> you </em>.” Emma choked off whatever she was about to say, turning it into a laugh as I continued. “You hate the idea that I just got real advice from the owner of the store you’ve been lurking outside of all day, and you had to just sit at the window and stare, huh? Want to know what we talked about?”</p><p>“Wh-what?” Her face twisted, and for a moment I though she was going to try to hit me again. Instead, she just crossed her arms (getting defensive, nice) and scoffed so loudly I thought her tonsils would fly out. “As if! Why would I care what you and that drag queen talked about??”</p><p>The crowd did <em> not </em>like that last bit, but Emma still played it up as if they were booing me. She was on a roll now, a feeling I was familiar with from my non-powered experiences. I was getting kind of angry at her now, even with Ren’s personality, and rather than letting her try to regain control I decided to use my new power.</p><p>
  <em> Because now she actually has it coming. I’ll only do it once, and just the tiniest bit. To test it. </em>
</p><p>“Just think, Emma. If you hadn’t been such a self-righteous asshole earlier, I probably would have invited you inside with me. I might have even said, ‘Wait a second, Victoria, let me go get my friend Emma so she can hear this as well. She’s a huge fan!’ But I didn’t.” I leaned in, making sure that I had her furious face perfectly in my sights before adding, “I’ll bet now you know how Taylor felt when you started bullying her out of nowhere, huh? When you decided to torment your friend, to abandon her, to try and drag her down because of how <em> weak </em> you are?”</p><p>With that, I focused on the shame I’d felt a week ago, upon realizing that I had teased Taylor. The regret I’d felt when I remembered that even though she had no reason to help me, she’d stuck her neck out for me. The pain that had echoed through me every time I saw Emma and her cronies torment the girl...while I did nothing but watch and be glad it wasn’t me.</p><p>
  <em> Fill myself with shame and regret, focus on Emma, then take Targeted Empathy and… </em>
</p><p><b> <em>Dammit, NO!</em> </b> </p><p>
  <em> I can’t keep doing this! I can’t keep trying to solve my problems with powers! Abort! </em>
</p><p>I really, really wanted to shoot Emma with the blended powers of Ren’s Dartboard (targeting power) and Victoria’s Bipolar Tornado (Emotional Aura). I had tested it earlier by accident, and thought I had a good feel for how it worked. It would have been so fitting to shoot her with some shame and regret, linking it to Taylor to make her really feel what the rest of us did.</p><p>I had been telling myself that Emma deserved it, so I was just being a hero by fighting her.</p><p>That she was a bully. That she had hurt me and so many other people. That she had it coming.</p><p>But I <em> wasn’t </em> going to stoop to her level. I <em> wasn’t </em> going to become a <b>villain</b>.</p><p>Luckily for me, my words appeared to have been powerful enough on their own, as Emma had frozen. The crowd, apparently tired of watching our teen drama, started to break up and move past us. An elderly man, one of the ones who hadn’t liked her words about Ren, bumped Emma hard with his shoulder and gave me a friendly nod. Emma slapped at him, then growled at me with half-hearted comebacks. “I’m not weak! I’m a survivor! You don’t know anything, Veder!”</p><p>
  <em> Point to Veder. And just think, I did this without even needing to use the power! </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Well, aside from the two awesome personalities helping me. Still, this was at least 50% me. </em>
</p><p>“I know <em> you </em>, and that’s more than I ever wanted to know.” I shrugged and walked past her. I had just realized that this whole encounter was a waste of my time, and let it reflect in my face. Emma didn’t even try to stop me, her eyes narrowing at me. I could tell she wanted to say more, but wasn’t willing to take me on without backup. “I’d rather be alone than talk to you. Bye.”</p><p>I walked slowly, reveling in the feeling of victory. Also, my bus stop was about twenty feet away, so...why rush? I took a seat on the bench at the bus stop, and started thinking as I tied my shoe. </p><p>Nearby, out of the corner of my eye, I saw that in true Emma Barnes fashion, she eventually just flipped her hair over her shoulder and sauntered off. As if it was nothing, she pulled out her phone and began to loudly talk to someone on the end of it...not a hint of her prior defensiveness or anger in her voice. </p><p>
  <em> Have to hand it to her, she really is a heck of an actor. Or maybe a sociopath. </em>
</p><p>“-no, I’m fine, just ran into that creep Veder. No, I don’t want to talk about it, even thinking about him makes me want to throw up.” She turned and started walking in my direction, but didn’t seem to have noticed me. She continued talking, going right past my location. “-said something that made me think of you. I just realized we haven’t done a sleepover in forever, so how about tonight? I’m sure you can convince Danny, and it’ll be great practice for the bigger one on New Years Eve with all the other girls. Oh come on, don’t make me beg...yes! You’re gonna love it!”</p><p>
  <em> Ugh, I feel sorry for whoever that is. A few minutes of Emma is bad enough. Overnight? Yeesh. </em>
</p><p>Putting all thoughts of her out of my head, I sat back and waited for the bus. My conversation with Ren was still spinning through my head, as well as something GstringGirl had suggested a little while back. Maybe today’s successes didn’t have to end with my victory over Emma?</p><p>***</p><p>The whole ride home, as well as an extended walk through my bustling neighborhood that followed it, I was deep in thought. So much so that I suddenly realized I had forgotten to release the power.</p><p>
  <em> I mean, I wanted to test it out on more people, but...this feels too much like a Master power. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ...also, using powers on civilians is wrong, yadda yadda, don’t do that. Of course. </em>
</p><p>Much as I hated to see it go, I still knew that it was too much of a temptation. Already, I had <em> almost </em>used it to make people who looked sad perk up almost a dozen times. This was Brockton Bay, so there were quite a few people like that. It was just too dangerous to keep.</p><p>Sighing, I took a seat on a handy bench and started to reach into my core. I paused though, recalling the storm of emotions that had blasted through me when I’d dropped the Bipolar Tornado earlier. Thinking for a moment, I decided to take some precautions.</p><p>First, I wrote down an executive summary of the last few hours in my notepad, as well as the idea I’d been mulling over for the last few minutes. Next I made sure nobody was around, and leaned back to pretend I was taking an impromptu nap. Finally, I clenched my jaw, closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and...</p><p>
  <em> Goodbye, Targeted Empathy. I hope to see you again someday. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ...given how much Victoria probably shops at Ren’s store, I’ll probably see you soon. </em>
</p><p>I think that the storm of emotions was easier to deal with this time, although whether it was because this was a blended power or because I’d done it before was anyone’s guess. I still felt like certain emotions were stronger, like my regrets over George and Taylor, but that might have just been because they’d been on my mind at the time. I also felt a lot of joy over the thing with Emma, as well as some glee from my experiences in the clothing store. Hope was there, too.</p><p>Then the storm ended, and I felt normal. Looking at my phone showed that it had only been ten seconds, and I immediately started reading over the notepad of events. Luckily, nothing seemed like a surprise to me, so at least my brain was safe. No memory gaps, or even any fuzzy spots.</p><p>
  <em> It’s possible that I can avoid memory issues if I just avoid pushing myself too hard. Maybe. </em>
</p><p>Whatever the reason, I was back to Baseline Greg, and that meant it was time to get home. As far as I knew, George was home for the next few days (Melody was still out of town), so if there was ever a time to try this out...it was the next few days. As much as I would have loved to procrastinate, I also knew that putting something off a little was just as easy as putting it off a lot.</p><p>So I walked home, went up to George’s door, and knocked...then entered when he gave the ok.</p><p>
  <em> Time to pull off a whole bunch of band-aids. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>George’s room seemed to change a little every time I was in it, which admittedly had been far less often the past few years than when I was a kid. I’d even spent the night in here when I was seven or eight, whether due to nightmares or for the impromptu sleepovers we’d had as kids. Last time I had been in here was for a prank about a year ago, and it looked like once again George had removed some furniture and pictures from the walls. </p><p>
  <em> Probably over at Melody’s. On the other hand, the lava lamps are gone, so maybe not. Ugh. </em>
</p><p>“What’s up Greg?” He asked me, glanced up from the document he was reading on his bed. I saw that the page he was on was about...dog fighting rings in Brockton Bay? Before I had time to read more, he flipped it over and slid the papers under a small pile of books nearby on the subject of stand-up comedy and heckling. Probably borrowed from Dad. “Need help with something? You’re looking around like you barely recognize the place.” </p><p>“Well, it has changed a lot over the years.” As it stood, this was more like a hotel than the room he’d grown up in. Five years ago the walls had been festooned with baseball memorabilia and signed bats, cape posters, and pictures of George with his teammates all through high school. It had always been his dream, as a kid. “What happened to all your baseball stuff?”</p><p>“Eh, I moved on.” He shrugged, as if it wasn’t worth even mentioning. When I didn’t say anything, he sighed and started tapping his thumb against his chin. “Thinking back, I think I realized that I wasn’t going to be playing after high school with all my other interests, so I sold it. Bought a lot of new books, lab equipment, and electronics with that money.”</p><p>
  <em> Guess this runs in the family. No wonder Mom and Dad thought I’d grow out of capes. </em>
</p><p>“So, there’s something I had been planning to do for a while, and I was always just kind of putting it off, but…” I stopped, realizing that not only was I beating around the bush but also I was basically lying. This was something that had only occurred to me today, thanks to someone else’s suggestion, and even then I was still sort of against it. I tried to shift to the previous topic. “Um, actually I was wondering. The baseball stuff. I see you still have some of it. Why is that?”</p><p>“What? I still have some of…” George looked around the room, then perked up as he noticed the picture frame above his bed I had been looking at. He stood and moved over to it, holding his hands as if presenting it to an audience. It was a wooden frame, carefully dusted and clear, displaying a single signed baseball card. “Well, I couldn’t possibly sell Bobby Brown!”</p><p>“But you sold all your other baseball stuff, what made him different?” I was confused, but I could have sworn George had explained this to me at one point or another. Despite that, he grinned and launched right into a very familiar explanation.</p><p>“Bobby Brown studied for his medical degree during his 8 years playing for the Yankees, after fighting in World War 2, and even took a season off from playing to fight in the Korean War. He practiced cardiology, taking a break to serve as the interim president of the Rangers, then went back to medicine. He’s still alive today, beating the odds and inspiring people like me.” George caressed the picture, smiling fondly at it. “He convinced me that I could still love baseball, even return to it someday, although I was taking a break to work as a doctor.”</p><p>I felt like the last piece of the puzzle had slid into place for me. That had been what I was missing, the whole time I was talking to Ren. I didn’t have to give up <em> all </em> my cape stuff or memorabilia, nor was it necessary for me to stop looking up to them. Just because I was going to become a hero myself, it wasn’t as if I had to stop remembering what made me want to start in the first place. I could be more than one thing, or focus on one thing without losing myself.</p><p>
  <em> Now I just need to convince George to help me. What’s the best way to explain this? </em>
</p><p>“I need money.” I blurted out, then mentally slapped myself as I saw George reach for his wallet in confusion. I held up both hands. “No, not from you, but I mean, you can help. But not like…”</p><p>
  <em> Take a breath. Don’t think about the end, think about the journey to get there. Baby steps. </em>
</p><p>“Sorry, this isn’t easy to explain.” I took a deep breath, trying to order my thoughts, and George was kind enough to let me. I closed my eyes, then started to speak, remembering how the idea had started and how I’d felt a few hours ago. “I want your help in selling some of my cape merch and clothing. I think I need to start wearing better clothes, to be able to buy things for people who matter to me without sponging off Mom and Dad. I want to be able to move forward.”</p><p>George was silent for a long moment, and I was afraid that he was laughing or moving across the room to just hand me money and push me away...but then I opened my eyes and saw him with a hand on his chin. He asked, “So you want my help with the logistics? Okay, what do you have so far? How are you planning to sell things, for instance?”</p><p>“Well I met someone who actually has connections and seemed to recognize the value, and was willing to sell things for me if I do the legwork on pricing and packaging.” I pulled Ren’s card out and handed it to him, seeing his eyebrows go up as he apparently recognized the store.</p><p>“Dare I ask how you met them? I was thinking you meant some guy online, but this is a pretty high-end location. Are you sure that they’re not just trying to pull a fast one on you?”</p><p>“Just because I’m a-” I stopped myself, realizing that I’d been about to yell at George for being protective, and that was exactly the sort of thing a little brother should have wanted. <em> Especially </em> given how this did sound a bit suspicious on its face. I started again, taking a different tactic. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted you to help me. I think this seems good, but having you there to help me see through the BS and get a good percentage would really help a lot.”</p><p>
  <em> Nice, a compliment and a request for help. Looks like I learned more than I thought from Ren. </em>
</p><p>“I can pay them a visit with you, sure.” He handed the card back, probably already familiar with the address. Despite that, he didn’t move to leave yet, so I waited. He looked nervous about something, then asked, “I’m just not sure where this suddenly came from. I mean, a week or two ago you were proudly talking about how you’d finally completed your set of Anchorage Protectorate figurines, and now you’re selling them. What changed between then and now?”</p><p>“I guess you could say that the last few weeks have really...triggered something in me.” I think George actually jumped at that, although given my claims of having powers last week it was an understandable reaction. He looked around for some reason, then shuffled a bit closer.</p><p>“Really, so this was a sudden...change for you?” He lowered his voice, and I did the same.</p><p>“More like something that’s been building for a while.” I shrugged, looking away and trying to appear nonchalant. Thinking about the way I’d treated him the last time we were this close had me feeling kind of embarrassed. He was probably lowering his voice, afraid of the same thing. “I always wanted to have cape stuff because they inspired me and I wanted to show it off, but I’ve started to realize that if I just hoard it all to myself and am only doing it for my own benefit...I’m not really living up to the examples they set.”</p><p>“And selling all this stuff will change that? Won’t that just make you rich instead?”</p><p>“Maybe, but then I can use the money to actually do something with my life.” I looked up, then shook my hands at him as if to ward his reaction off. “Not that there’s anything wrong with my life! I just mean that with money I could get into more film stuff, get clothes I feel good in, and try to set my own example that others might follow someday. Kind of like...you did...for me.”</p><p>
  <em> Can’t believe it took me this long to realize that. Wow, look at George puff up.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Best that I don’t add that it’ll also give me funds for Tinkering, costumes, and...oh. Hug time. </em>
</p><p>“Sorry Greg, but that’s just...wow.” George’s arms went around me, and I nervously put my arms around him. It was the first time we’d really done something like this in years, and it showed. Despite that, we didn’t stop. This was nice. “Of course I’ll help. Let’s go meet this friend of yours.”</p><p>“Business partner!” I corrected, as he pulled out his keys and followed me out of the room. “If we do good business, then <em> maybe </em>I’ll let her be my friend.”</p><p>George only laughed.</p><p>***</p><p>The next few days were like a dream come true. A dream had by nerds, I guess, but given that George and I fell neatly into that category it was still a very good dream. </p><p>He got along great with Ren, and the three of us hammered out a decent cut for her to take from the sales she was going to make. All we had to do was organize, package, price, and transport the items, and she’d handle the rest with the buyers she claimed to have already contacted. I asked her how she knew I’d go for the deal so soon, and she just smiled and laughed.</p><p>It wasn’t all easy, though. Once I got home I had to go through every single item in my collection and identify what I could sell and what I’d be keeping. We only had a few days until George had to go back to work, so time was limited. In the end though, it was his advice (and a book on Shinto he loaned me) that helped me get through it. It was all about identifying what had made the most impact on me, and what I felt would hurt me most to no longer have in my life.</p><p>The jacket stayed, obviously, as well as a few other clothes that were either too worn down to sell (“well-used” stuff still goes for a decent price, but even that only goes so far) or that I associated with powerful memories. Like the hat I’d been wearing after Taylor had taken my side in an argument with some bullies back in junior high, for instance. Also, a single green Eidolon bandanna, to remind me of the good (and so much bad) that had come from my ABB costume.</p><p>There were also a few figurines I kept, a limited edition stuffed animal of Leviathan I’d slept with as a kid (I called him Levi), and a poster from a photoshoot that had captured my three favorite heroes (Miss Militia, Eidolon, and Assault) standing together. Those would stay with me for life, the latter even being put in a plastic frame George had found to protect it for said life.</p><p>As for the rest of it? We spent an entire day pricing things out, researching their condition and average worth online. After that, it was off to the store to get packaging and stuffing for protection, and then back at home for putting it all together. We must have made a dozen trips back and forth to Ren’s storage unit, putting stuff away and running her through the spreadsheet I’d made (with George) on price ranges and such. She was very impressed.</p><p>After that, we just drove around a bit, knowing that the first payment would be coming any day now. George had signed for me on a bank account of my own, after a short lecture on responsibility, and for that I’d insisted on giving him a small cut of the profits. He had tried to refuse, but I think in the end he just gave up so that I’d feel like it was a group effort.</p><p>
  <em> It was a group effort. That’s why I want to remember it. This is the relationship I wanted. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ...dang, this means I need to tell GstringGirl her idea worked. She’s gonna be impossible! </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Tuesday, Dec 28, 2010] </b>
</p><p>Knowing what was waiting for me at home, and that my time away from school was dwindling, I chose to spend Tuesday working on that whole “new clothes” thing. I had spent the day going around to a few stores and, with permission from the clerks, taken pictures of clothes that seemed both fitting and stylish. Surprisingly, Ren had been happy to see me, and had time.</p><p>
  <em> Seriously, does she even sleep? I don’t think I’ve seen Ren look tired. Is she a noctis cape? </em>
</p><p>Speaking of parahumans, as she was pointing out the best and worst of my choices (<em> 70% good, I’m getting better </em>), I copied her power that I had started to think was a portable hole. I’d been planning to experiment with it anyway, since I hadn’t figured out whether any of Victoria’s powers could blend with it. I mean, how would it even work to have a power that was both an invisible storage and a flight power? Would I start flying through warp gates or something?</p><p>It felt interesting, but despite really wanting to play with it I still sat still and gave Ren my full attention. We parted soon after, and she was even happy to tell me that the first sale had gone through without a problem...so I would have a “little cash” in my account by now. I’m not going to say that I ran out of there, but…</p><p>Yeah, I ran out of there. Glad I did, because I spent a good minute staring at the ATM afterwards. That number was...bigger than what I’d expected. This was just the first sale?</p><p>
  <em> Guess it’s a good market for the kind of stuff I’m selling. That, or George and I did good work. </em>
</p><p>Thinking of my brother, I went ahead and took out his cut of this sale, then headed off before the line behind me at the ATM got any madder. I felt kind of nervous about just running around with this much money, though, and-</p><p>
  <em> Of course! I’m an idiot. I can’t believe money would make me forget about the power. </em>
</p><p>I walked into a random camping supply store, then stepped into their bathroom and locked the door. A quick look around told me there was no camera (can’t hurt to check), so I focused on the new power in my mind. It felt like it was connected to my hands, but also had a Switch to it.</p><p>
  <em> Maybe if I...no. Okay, what if I put my hand, yes! Okay, that makes sense. Like a magician! </em>
</p><p>Indeed, it was kind of like being a stage magician, doing one of those tricks where they pull a big ladder out of a small bag. Only in this case, it was a parahuman power. Most likely because my version of the power was a bit weaker than the original, I had to use both hands to activate and use this new one. One hand went on an opening of some kind (like my left pocket) and the other moved something into that opening while the power was active.</p><p>I deactivated the power, then reached into both pockets and found the money had vanished. But! When I opened my mouth and put one hand on my lips, I could reach into said mouth with the other hand and activate the power...and pulled out a wad of twenties! Also, got a papercut.</p><p>A little embarrassed, I put the money back in my pocket (and what I now recognized as a <em> pocket dimension </em>), and headed out. Now I could get some new clothes, some new travel notebooks and pens, and a few other things that had been on my list for a while. Best of all, no need to worry about carrying it all, because I had a Bottomless Backpack!</p><p>
  <em> Wait, that’s a good idea. That’s perfect, in fact! Plus, I’m already in the right place for it! </em>
</p><p>I spent a few minutes longer in the store, made a purchase, and then left. A few hours later, I headed home with all my purchases, not a single bulging pocket on me. It was late, but I was happy to finally go to sleep.</p><p>...after a bit more experimentation with the power in private, at home.</p><p>***</p><p>That night, I went to sleep with a closet full of new clothes, a few very special cape-related clothes that I wasn’t afraid to wear, a whole lot of free floor/desk space, and a pair of newly-built bookshelves for the comics and books that had previously been in piles on the floor. </p><p>There was also a very special item in the back of my closet, just waiting for me to get the courage up to do something with it. </p><p>It had been a good day, and as I drifted off to sleep I knew that things were only going to get better. I’d spent a few days really getting closer with my brother, and I was already planning some new activities tomorrow for both my powers and my parents. </p><p>They might not go perfectly, but I was sure as heck not going to avoid trying them because of that. I’d taken a chance the past few days, and now my bond with George was stronger than ever. The very thought of it made me feel secure and happy.</p><p>With that, my eyes closed, and I idly wondered what would happen...to the things I’d stuffed...in my pocket dimension...when I...fell...asl-</p><p>
  <em> WHUMP </em>
</p><p>I cannot properly describe the sound made by a dozen baseballs, some old blankets, a few random tools, and ten pillows as they suddenly exploded out of me, joining me under the covers.</p><p>
  <em> Ah, so that’s what happens when the power ends and there’s still stuff in there. </em>
</p><p><em> Good to know. Good to know. Let’s never test that again. </em> </p><p>I sighed, then climbed out of bed and started cleaning up as quietly as I could.</p><p>...as I was picking up Dad’s hammer, glad that it had hit the blanket instead of flying up into the air and hit me in the head or something. A detail about that tickled my memory.</p><p>
  <em> Hammer. In a pocket dimension. Hitting people…why is this reminding me of something? </em>
</p><p>“Oh crap, how did I not see this?” I slapped my forehead, whispering to myself. “Ren is Circus! That cat burglar villain who’s been spotted around town stealing...stuff.”</p><p>
  <em> Wait, I thought that Circus was a villain? But out of costume they were kind, helpful, and... </em>
</p><p>...and hadn’t taken advantage of me. They could have just stolen my stuff, or killed me and taken it, or any number of other things. But instead they’d given me good advice, accepted an amazingly low cut, been friendly with George, and more. </p><p>Was Ren my friend, now, or was it something else? Why would villains be nice as civilians? Was it all an act? A split personality?</p><p>From having Ren’s personality pressing on mine, it didn’t seem like they were faking it...was there more to it than this? I made a mental note to pick up those parahuman psychology books Victoria had recommended ASAP. Maybe parahumans were really good at compartmentalizing?</p><p>With that on my mind, I went back to bed. This wasn’t something I’d solve in one night.</p><p>Apparently I still had a lot to learn.</p><p>*****************</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg seems to have learned a valuable lesson about putting yourself out there, and the importance of relationships. You know another great example of a relationship? The connection between a mentor and...oh heck, it’s a Wards Interlude!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: I’ve never been big into collecting stuff myself, but I have to wonder if there’s something similar to phantom limb for people who sell some of their collection. Also, Bobby Brown is a real person, and impressive as hell. I don’t even like baseball, and I love this guy. Really, look him up, Robert William Brown. Seemed fitting for someone like George to idolize, given that he’s trying to be a spy/doctor/investigator/technician.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Interlude 5: Wards to the Wise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: Wards Interlude! We’ll be seeing some Wards and Protectorate in this story, and this a great way for me to introduce why they’re a bit different from what you may be used to in canon. Luckily, someone pointed them in the right direction...even if she had to be clever about it. </p><p>Timeline Detail: I ended up switching this and the original Interlude 5, since this sets that one up. Whoops.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[9 Months Ago]</b>
</p><p>Jessica Yamada had one of the most difficult jobs in the world. </p><p>She didn’t wear a costume, although she did dress well and have a white coat that had her name stitched into it. She didn’t fight crime, although she did help people fight against their own worries, demons, and troubles. She didn’t train under brutal conditions in pouring rain or under waterfalls, but she did spend eight years training and going to graduate school.</p><p>She was a parahuman psychologist employed by the PRT, and one whose job was made nearly impossible by the constraints of time, bureaucracy, and regulations.</p><p>The problem was that her primary patients, the PRT’s Wards, were forced onto a schedule of rotation with regards to their therapists. This meant that right about the time they started to get to know someone and trust them, they’d be forced to uproot most of their progress and start all over again with someone who only knew them from a file and some footage. They had no anchor, nothing they could tie their sanity and calm to, and it showed...oh how it showed.</p><p>So, Jessica decided to cheat, by taking the one constant in the Brockton Bay Wards’ life and make <em> that </em> their anchor. Which was why she was meeting with the Protectorate right now, having already gotten permission from Deputy Director Renick. He’d been very excited about it.</p><p>“So, this is like a pilot program, then?” Battery asked, looking over the list of recommended reading and activities they’d all been handed. She looked worried, and immediately voiced her concern. “We aren’t trained like you are, though. We can’t dig into their heads like that.”</p><p>“Yeah, Pup-” Assault cut himself off, clearing his throat as his wife scooted her chair a bit further from his. He looked down at the literature, pretending to be reading it for a moment before starting over. “Battery’s right, I mean. We might screw them up worse than before, Doc.”</p><p>“I’m not asking you to replace psychologists like me.” Jessica smiled at them, shaking a little on the inside as she realized that the combined firepower of the parahumans shoved into this room with her could easily take out a city block. She took a small breath, then gestured at Velocity. “What we need is for you to be friendly, helpful, and most of all...<em> there </em>. They need stability in their lives, advice and help from people who have been where they are now. Who better than you?”</p><p>“We don’t have time for this.” Armsmaster was blunt, and Jessica could see him already preparing to stand. The man dropped the papers disdainfully. “I have a hundred projects already on my plate, Tinkering to do, countless things to approve and check, and a city to patrol.” </p><p>“I understand, and you can still do all that, but can I at least check in with you for five minutes every few days?” Jessica schooled her expression, revealing nothing as she added, “It’s about a Tinker-related matter, just once or twice a week?”</p><p>“Fine.” The man sighed, “I suppose I can spare that much time for you.”</p><p>“Great! Oh, but it won’t be me, it’ll be Kid Win.” She grinned, reveling in seeing the older hero’s face droop as he realized he had been played. After Velocity and the others cracked up and the Tinker gave in with a nod, she knew she’d won. “Glad to have everyone on board.”</p><p>The meeting adjourned.</p><p>Not once in the year that followed was Jessica sorry that she had asked the larger-than-life heroes of the Protectorate to step up a little. The Wards were the next generation, after all. They learned valuable skills, formed strong bonds, and began to transform into adults...and heroes.</p><p>Soon, reports began to pour in from the Protectorate heroes...</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Battery &amp; Clockblocker]</b>
</p><p>“I don’t get it, why did he stab me?” Clockblocker wailed, holding a hand over his thigh as blood dripped out. The wound had come courtesy of a Merchant’s knife, and the teen had just walked right up to him and taken it...in the leg. “Now I’m going to die or get herpes, and all I said was-”</p><p>“You’re not going to die. Hold still, kid.” Battery nudged the boy’s hand out of the way, doing her best not to feel a bit of satisfaction at his injury. She’d warned him not to approach, but he’d just laughed it off and walked up like the man was holding an ice-cream cone. It reminded her too much of her...of Assault. “You made a threat, and he treated you like one.”</p><p>“But I was smiling, and I even told jokes...I don’t get it.” The boy muttered, letting her take care of his wound. He cringed and whined, but eventually admitted that it wasn’t as bad as it had looked. Finally, he looked up at her. “What did I do wrong, Sensei?”</p><p>Battery considered reading him the riot act, knowing that taking it easy on someone who would joke around like this could be dangerous in the long run. She’d certainly excused enough of Assault’s idiocy back in the day. He’d never learned, never listened, and teased her mercilessly.</p><p>Now the two were taking some time apart, after the pressure had built up so much that they nearly came to blows. As much as she wanted to look at Clockblocker and see Ethan...she had to admit that if she’d been far too willing to just accept that Ethan was who he was, and that there was no point in changing him. She needed to be firm, but also even-handed.</p><p>
  <em> If I don’t stick to my guns, and express why this is a problem, it’ll never stop being a problem. </em>
</p><p>“For starters, you didn’t seem to notice it but the man was speaking broken English with a heavy Russian accent. That means that you shouldn’t have expected your humor to translate. You can’t just assume that other people are going to understand your words and meaning.”</p><p>“Okay, I guess that makes sense. But why couldn’t he see I wasn’t serious?”</p><p>“Well, in case you forgot…” Battery reached up and tapped the boy’s full-face mask. “He couldn’t see your face, so he jumped to a conclusion. My suggestion? Learn how to emote better with your hands and body. Well, once you heal, anyway.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess that makes sense.” Clockblocker’s body told her that he was still down, so she decided to give him a bit of help cheering up.</p><p>“Hey, think of it this way. Not only do you have a cool scar, but now you can tell people...” She put one arm behind her back and switched to a faux British accent. “...‘twas merely a flesh wound!”</p><p>“That’s not a flesh wound!” Clockblocker replied, chuckling and taking on a similar accent. “Your arm’s off!”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Armsmaster and Kid Win...and Dragon]</b>
</p><p>“Um, Armsmaster, sir?” Kid Win stood nervously at the door to the Protectorate hero’s workshop. He had once come in unannounced and startled the man into firing something at the ceiling with a lathe. Nobody had been hurt, but ever since then the Ward had been very careful when entering. “I was having an issue with this new version of my board, and...uh…”</p><p>Armsmaster considered whether he could just stay silent, and the boy would go away. It wasn’t that he was <em> trying </em> to be rude, although it probably came off that way to most people. Rather, he never seemed to have enough time and Kid Win was always so...lacking. Again, not an insult.</p><p>Lacking, in this case, meant that he felt the boy was always coming up short. His designs were all knockoffs of other ideas, he never seemed to finish anything, and he’d been Tinkering for over a year without even a hint of what his specialty was. Kid Win’s notes were terrible, his handwriting poor (even for a Tinker), and most of all he lacked confidence in himself.</p><p>
  <em> But Yamada will find out if I turn him away. I can spare...34 seconds, at the most. </em>
</p><p>“Hmm.” Armsmaster cleared his throat, turning to face the boy. He sat like that for five seconds before the Ward seemed to catch on and rush to his side. In his hands was his hoverboard, another idea that was constantly changing and shifting...going from a flying board to a weapons platform to what now appeared to be...some sort of display unit? “What is this?”</p><p>“My hover board, sir!” Kid Win nearly snapped to attention, and his ‘mentor’ stifled a groan. The boy seemed to catch on and hurried to explain. “I mean, I realized that in the field it could be useful to utilize the soundwaves it can already produce...from my Music Player v3.67 that I put in last month. I could catch those waves and see inside people, in case they have internal  inj-”</p><p>“Yes, but what’s the problem?” Armsmaster cut him off, and the Ward blushed, stuttering for a moment. “Please think before you speak, I have limited time.”</p><p>“Sorry sir, it’s just...my power is always running out since I tried this new battery type and-”</p><p>“Then use a different battery.”</p><p>Armsmaster turned away, returning to his work, and missed the way the Ward’s shoulders slumped. The boy took his board back, and began to walk away dejectedly.</p><p>“<em> Ahem </em>.” An electronic throat cleared itself in Armsmaster’s helmet, and he let out a groan.</p><p>“Wait.” Kid Win froze, and turned back around to see the hero gesturing at him. He approached, and stood silently as the application of a few tools removed the panel over his board’s battery. The older man looked carefully at the contents of the board, then asked, “Why did you use this particular battery?”</p><p>“Oh!” Kid Win took a breath, reminding himself of the man’s prior advice. With a voice that was more than a little shaky, he explained. “I was studying Nano-network batteries, and this Lithium-sulfur system will let me remove the conducting plate I was using before. But the problem is that more energy is being used than I can extract, even with that.”</p><p>“I see.” Armsmaster was silent for nearly a minute, looking over the work, then asked, “Did you come up with this design yourself?”</p><p>“N-no sir.” Kid Win looked down at his feet, eventually muttering, “I know I’m not a very good Tinker, but I saw that Hero used this type of energy design in one of his works, and...he was one of the people who always used to inspire me. I know it’s not original, or worthy of his name, or-”</p><p>“It’s okay. I based a lot of my early work on Hero as well.” Armsmaster nodded matter-of-factly. He typed on his keyboard, bringing up some very crude drawings on a monitor that actually looked a lot like a mix between Armsmaster’s current armor and Hero’s chestplate. “You’re still young, so you can afford to make mistakes and take chances like this. Now, let’s take another look at this sound design of yours, I think the energy flow might work better if…”</p><p>Over the next twenty minutes, the older hero explained a lot to Kid Win, and he took copious notes. The sensor idea never paid off, but his battery knowledge improved. </p><p>The next time he needed advice, he knew exactly where to go, even if Armsmaster didn’t always have as much time to help him...or as many useful suggestions.</p><p>Kid Win was really glad he had taken Dragon’s advice and come to talk to the veteran hero.</p><p>So was Dragon...and if all went as she hoped, but the time Armsmaster caught on he’d already be in too deep to try and back out. He might even learn to enjoy being a mentor.</p><p>Stranger things had happened, after all.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Assault and Aegis]</b>
</p><p>“Okay, stop!” Assault held out a hand, and a fist stopped mere inches from his face. He hadn’t been worried about the impact, having quite a way with kinetic energy, but rather was worried about his opponent. The PRT employees watching them in the gym let out a groan, and started to move away. “Aegis, we need to talk about your fighting style.”</p><p>“What’s wrong with it? Every one of your blows was powerful, but I have yet to go down.” Aegis shrugged, pointing at the older hero and the scuffed wraps on his fists. “I can keep going, and you can hit harder. Trust me, I can take it.”</p><p>“You just taking the hits is exactly the problem, kid. Come take a walk with me.” Assault led the boy towards the water fountains, trying to figure out how to explain this particular weakness. The biggest problem was that to Aegis, someone who had named himself after a shield, telling them not to be a shield was like telling Puppy not to get mad at him when he-</p><p>
  <em> God damn it, I did it again. This mentoring was supposed to distract me from all that. </em>
</p><p>Assault and Battery. Ethan and Alex. The criminal turned hero and the detective’s daughter turned hero. Both Protectorate heroes. Both married. Both passionate. Both in love, or so they thought. Both regretting a rush into marriage. </p><p>Still working together, but living apart. Barely speaking. It was only supposed to be for a while.</p><p>
  <em> But ‘a while’ keeps getting longer, the more I think about it. Mentoring was supposed to fix that. </em>
</p><p>So, with an incredible need to distract himself, he’d thrown himself into his two greatest pleasures in life. Community service and training. In his civilian life he helped out with youth events, refereed sports for teens, ran AA meetings for adults, and worked at homeless shelters. In his cape life, he fought crime, trained like a madman, and sparred with anyone who asked…except that everyone always got tired before he did.</p><p>That was why the idea of training Aegis, the Ward who made the Energizer Bunny look like Beetle Bailey, was so appealing. The kid never got tired, never said a hit was too hard, and never gave anything but 100% when he trained. </p><p>Unfortunately, as Assault was finding, the kid was also extremely lacking in creativity. </p><p>“Okay, so let’s get right to the point.” Assault tried to put on his Wise Mentor hat and explain things. For once, he was going to try this without jokes or references, because this kid barely ever seemed to laugh. “You need to learn to dodge, and use other tactics besides taking blows. Not just because of appearances, but also because you can’t always count on-.”</p><p>“Why?” Aegis frowned, gesturing at himself. “My power lets me take hits, I don’t feel pain, I heal, and I’m always in top form no matter how bad the damage is. Also, if I dodge, the people behind me get hit. No matter the situation, no matter the ‘appearance,’ I need to fight this way. ”</p><p>“Yes, but your health matters to some as much to them as your ability to protect them, and you can’t...hmm, this is tough to explain.” He looked around the room, then grinned and pointed at someone who had been subtly watching both heroes. “Hey, sorry to bother you ma’am, but can we borrow you for a moment?”</p><p>“What, me?” The tall blond woman he was waving at stopped, pointed at herself, and then smiled and approached. She was fit, and looked like she had just finished running. “Wow, I didn’t think I’d get to meet actual heroes on my first day! How can I help you?”</p><p>“Well, let’s start off with introductions. I’m Assault, this is Aegis, and who are you? Tell us a bit about yourself.”</p><p>“Oh wow, put me on the spot why don’t you? Um...let’s see, my name is Beth, I just started working for Deputy Director Renick today. I have a Master’s degree in Public Administration, I love to jog, and I’m currently learning to throw boomerangs.” She grinned, and wagged a finger at both of them “Also, I’m already dating a really cute guy who teaches at Winslow, so don’t get any ideas, either of you!”</p><p>“Perfect! Okay Beth, I need you to help me with an entirely safe and voluntary exercise for my boy Aegis here. If you could just stand here, and then we’ll put Aegis in front of you and a bit to the left...and there we go. Now, let me just get twenty feet away, and off we go.”</p><p>“Okay, so here’s the situation. Aegis, a crazed madman with a knife is charging towards Beth, planning to stab her. You react accordingly.” Once properly positioned, Assault raised his hand and mimed holding a knife, pretending to stab it down a few times. “Ready? Go!”</p><p>He jogged forward, stabbing down towards Beth’s chest at about half speed, and was unsurprised when Aegis leapt in his way with arms spread. The fake knife would have taken the boy in the neck, and Assault said, “Okay, freeze! Let’s all take note of where we are, and talk. First question, Aegis, why did you do what you did?”</p><p>“You were going to stab her, so I got between you two. The knife would have gotten stuck in my neck or clavicle, and I could have punched you in the-”</p><p>“Okay, got it.” Assault interrupted, turning to face Beth. “Beth, question for you. If this valiant teen hero stepped in front of you and took a knife to the neck, spraying blood everywhere...what would you have done?”</p><p>“Probably assumed he was dead, and go after the guy myself.” Despite her pale skin, the blonde’s eyes glittered dangerously. “I’m a Brockton Bay native, and nobody’s going to kill a hero in front of me and get away with it. Especially not a Ward!”</p><p>“But I wouldn’t be dead, I can take the hit.” Aegis turned, as if he was going to explain his powers to Beth, and Assault caught him. “What? Was there a better way to do it?”</p><p>“Sure, you could have shoved Beth out of the way, you could have disarmed the man, you could have rushed to meet him, you could have gone for his legs, and there are even more options.” Assault listed the possibilities on his fingers. “Do you see what I’m trying to say?”</p><p>“I think I do.” It was slow, but Aegis nodded. “You want me to have other options, right?”</p><p>“Exactly! Plus, you never know when you’ll go up against a Trump, or a power nullifier, or something even worse. You have to prepare, and that’s the whole point of training.” Assault nodded, and clapped the Ward on the back, already seeing his mindset changing a little bit...which wasn’t easy on someone who adapted to everything. “Luckily for you, I’m an excellent teacher, and we’ve still got an hour left today.”</p><p>“Well, I’m always willing to try. Thanks.” Aegis frowned, looking at his feet. “I’m going to be the leader of the Wards someday, and I need all the help I can get. I’ll give it everything I’ve got.”</p><p>“Great! Now c’mon, I’m going to start by teaching you how to-”</p><p>
  <em> Come to think of it, that gives me an idea. I wonder if I can do this sort of thing all the time? </em>
</p><p>Later that month, Ethan bought a small Gym and started fixing it up. It took a while, but a few of the Protectorate and Wards pitched in, when they had the time in their civilian IDs.</p><p>Carlos was his first customer, and came almost daily. </p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Velocity and Gallant]</b>
</p><p>If there’s one thing that small children love, it’s shiny lights. So when little Becky was handed a lit sparkler on the Fourth of July, she wasted no time running away from her parents and waving it about alongside the other kids. Her big brother, more than double her age at ten, led them off to the edge of the park, where his friends were being adults and making their own fun.</p><p>“C’mon, light it already!” Her brother Petey whispered, but his best friend was too scared. His hands were shaking so much he couldn’t even light the match, and that Roman Candle wasn’t going to make itself all sparkly. “I’m not doing it, so you’ve gotta!”</p><p>Becky decided to be the adult here, and moved her sparkler towards the fuse. Mere inches from it, though, she felt a displacement of air and there was a red hand blocking her way. The hand closed, snatching the sparkler from Becky’s hand, and she looked up to see a big adult in red clothes and...oh wow! It was the superhero Velocity!</p><p>Becky wanted to laugh and ask for his autograph, turning to her brother for a paper and pen, but saw that the older boy was crying. A knight in shining armor was giving the ten year old and his friends what she recognized as a stern talking to, and they were ugly crying as they twisted their hands in their shirts.</p><p>“-and losing a finger is nothing to laugh about!” The knight’s voice sounded young, but his words were very adult. Despite that, Velocity seemed to be groaning and putting his face in his red palm. The boys ran off, as the Knight yelled after them, “Remember! If you fool around with fireworks, you’re crackers. Don’t let the number of injuries Skyrocket!”</p><p>“Gallant, I think you kind of missed the point here.” Velocity approached the boy and put an arm around his shoulders. The knight, Gallant, tried to shrug it off, but the other man hung on. “We’re supposed to interface with the public and keep the safety, not...whatever that was.”</p><p>“I was just using the most commonly-used fireworks safety slogans, according to US Government safety regulations. It’s all in this pamphlet I found.” Gallant waved it at the speedster, ignoring the way the man rolled his eyes. “Those kids could have really gotten hurt, and now they’re safe and sound. They’ll remember the day I-”</p><p>“Made them feel like crap. Those kids are already over there crying to their parents about the mean knight who made them sad, and that’s all they’re going to remember about this day.” Velocity interrupted the younger hero, making him grind his speech to a halt. The two began to walk away, and Becky let them go. “Come on, I think I need to explain what bedside manner is.”</p><p>Becky never did get her autograph, but she did learn that even heroes can get a timeout.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Miss Militia and Vista...and Shadow Stalker]</b>
</p><p>“So you haven’t had any problems with her?” Jessica was surprised, having thought that Vista would have been the toughest child to mentor. “I have to admit, I did not see that coming.”</p><p>“Well, we did have some growing pains at first, if you’ll pardon the pun.” Miss Militia nodded at her, changing her weapon into a paring knife before shifting it into a machete. “Vista is very focused on wanting to be seen as an adult, and takes on larger loads and more difficult tasks as part of a neverending need to prove herself. But at a certain point she seemed to realize that I was giving her equal praise for each success, regardless of her chances of success.”</p><p>“Hmm, you made her see every victory as worthy, and helped her to taper off her obsession with adulthood. Interesting strategy.” Jessica made some notes, planning to bring it up at the next session she had with the young woman. “So, since then things have been fine? Training, respect, and powers are all going well with her? No major issues?”</p><p>“Well, I think she is a little lonely, perhaps. Her parents are not very supportive, and she has no friends in her civilian life.” Miss Militia sighed, shaking her head and shrugging. “But unfortunately, she is the youngest on a team, the only girl, and her mentor is more than twice her age. Aside from suggesting she add even more extracurricular activities to her life, something that would certainly exhaust her, I don’t have a good solution to that.”</p><p>“Well…”Jessica frowned, tapping her mouth with a pen. She picked up a remote control and looked worried, before turning to face the heroine uncertainly. “The Wards did recently gain a new member, as you might have heard on your way back from Boston yesterday. She’s a few years older than Vista, but also has a lot of rough edges.”</p><p>“That isn’t a problem.” Miss Militia seemed to perk up at the thought. “I’m doing so well with Vista, I think I can take on a second charge and they can both help each other. This is perfect...although I’m wondering why you’re suddenly frowning at me?”</p><p>“Well, see for yourself. We have the security footage from the Wards Common Room.” Jessica lifted the remote control, pressing a button and starting a video that was in amazingly high quality. “This is from yesterday. See what you’re getting into.”</p><p>*</p><p>“-all I’m saying is, I shouldn’t be getting any guff for the name Clockblocker.” The boy in question gestured around the room at his fellow Wards. “Missy’s named after one of the worst Windows Operating Systems ever made, Carlos is named after a Filipino Pop Rock band, and you my dear fearless leader are named after a dog puppet that insults people.”</p><p>“We didn’t name ourselves that because of those reasons, Dennis.” Triumph put his lion-headed face in his palm. The others all groaned, and even Vista threw a pillow at the other Ward despite knowing that it would be ineffective. He tried to explain, “You called yourself Clockblocker as a dirty joke. Or, what, are you going to say that it has a deeper, kinder meaning?”</p><p>“Oh no, I fully admit that my name is intended to titillate, surprise, and bring a chuckle. Newscasters everywhere shall fear having to say my name with a straight face.” Dennis posed stoically, standing and putting hands on his hips. He shrugged, noting that nobody was laughing (although most were smiling) at his antics. “But yeah, I just want equal opportunity-”</p><p>
  <em> BEEP </em>
</p><p>The Wards all leapt to their feet, casting eyes towards the security door facing them. All were gathered in the Wards Common Room, couches pushed aside and a table set up. They were due to meet their newest teammate today, one who had more than a little baggage. The Wards lined up, about ten feet from the door, and waited for the countdown to complete.</p><p>Despite not being the leader (nor due to become leader for quite some time), Gallant had made sure all of them were in full costume. He’d warned them of certain words and topics to avoid (such as “manslaughter” or “assault with a deadly weapon”) when meeting their new recruit, and most had at least nodded as he reviewed it all with a smile on his face. They’d long since caught onto the boy’s incredible need to be helpful, and hated to turn him down.</p><p>Aegis was whispering with Vista about something, the smallest Ward trying to ask a question and being turned down before she even got halfway through it. Her annoyance showed on her face, and despite solid scores in both physical and mental prowess...the pre-teen still often had issues with patience. Aegis on the other hand had patience to spare, and barely even seemed to react as she turned and pointedly ignored him.</p><p>Triumph, their leader, stepped forwards as the door finally opened, revealing...nobody.</p><p>“I thought her power was to turn into a ghost thingy, not invisible.” Clockblocker commented, walking forward and peering through the open door. The corridor outside was empty, except for a duffel bag and an annoyed-looking PRT aide. The aide was on his phone, whispering loudly, and didn’t react to Clockblocker picking up the bag and bringing it inside. “Or does she turn into a duffel bag? Am I literally sweeping our new member off her feet?”</p><p>“Nah, got tired of waiting.” All of the Wards turned around with startled shouts, laying eyes upon someone who certainly wasn’t a duffel bag. Dressed in workout clothing and with a domino mask on, Shadow Stalker was a black girl of average height, fit for her age, and holding a fork in one hand and a plate in the other. On the plate was a slice of cake, and she took another bite. “Thanks for the cake.”</p><p>“Hey! That cake was for later!” Vista approached, waving a hand at the other girl and trying to grab the plate. Shadow Stalker darted back, turning and avoiding her grabs with ease. She even began to grin, making a point of teasing the smallest Ward. “Stop it! Give me that!”</p><p>“Sure.” With a deft movement of her hand, Shadow Stalker slammed the plateful of moist cake into Vista’s face, then headed for Clockblocker and grabbed her bag from the laughing time-based hero. She paused to notice that the other Wards were less than impressed, and Vista appeared to be melting down. “What? You want a piece of me? Bring it, kids.”</p><p>After a minute of chasing, thrown cake, and Shadow Stalker’s laughter, the video froze.</p><p>*</p><p>“So, you think you can handle it?” Jessica asked, noting that the Protectorate Hero was still staring at the frozen screen. Just as she was about to reach out and poke her, Miss Militia let out a chuckle and nodded. “Are you sure? Her home life isn’t good, and her psych tests-”</p><p>“No, I can handle this. It wouldn’t be the first problem child I’ve run into. I’m sure I’ll have her as a team player in no time.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[2 Weeks Later]</b>
</p><p>
  <em> RING </em>
</p><p>“Hello?” “Hello?” Both voices, one female and one male, answered at almost the same time.</p><p>“Hello, friends.” Miss Militia, Hannah without her mask, greeted two of her oldest friends and smiled as they answered with the sort of joy she’d come to expect from them. Both voices were a welcome relief after a considerably more stressful week than she’d expected.</p><p>“GI Jane! How’s it hanging?” “Hannah, it’s good to hear from you.”</p><p>“I’m well, thank you both. Just taking a break, things have been busy lately with this new mentoring program the Brockton Bay Protectorate has been doing with our Wards.” </p><p>She paused, taking a breath and reminding herself that this was just her reaching out for some advice, nothing more. It wasn’t as if she was giving up...even if both Vista and Shadow Stalker had gotten into no less than seventeen fights (verbal and physical) in the last two weeks.</p><p>“I was actually wondering if you two might offer me some advice. I have a new teen I’m mentoring, and she’s...difficult.” Hannah sighed, relating a few details to them. She finally added, “She is violent, willful, insulting, disrespectful, and generally not a team player.”</p><p>Both were silent for a moment, and then they replied.</p><p>“So, she’s like you were a decade ago?” “Tough break Hannah, you have to mentor yourself.”</p><p>“What?” Hannah was incredulous. “I was nothing like that as a child!”</p><p>Both burst into laughter. </p><p>Still, after it had passed, they started giving her good advice. </p><p>After all, both remembered what it was to be a Ward. They remembered what it was like to be powerful, alone, and suddenly thrust into a team with little warning. Whether you were a knight, a goofball, or a gun-nut, if you had a team...you were never truly alone. </p><p>On a team, maybe a vigilante and a pre-teen hero could find a way to work together.</p><p>With the right mentor, of course.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: So, there’s our intro to some slightly AU Wards and Protectorate, who are actually trying to improve...with mixed results. There’s a stronger bond between them than in canon, and that’ll come into play later. I kind of regret I didn’t post this chapter after 2.3, as it would have made 2.4 flow better, but I guess I’ll get that in the minor revisions after I finish this story arc.</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg’s got clothes, he’s got powers, and he wants to practice with them more! Time to go out on the town and experiment with more powers...carefully! How about a Tinker? I hear that the Wards have two of them, maybe one of them has powers that will help Greg make some sweet gear for himself?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. 2.4: Dealing With Emotions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>AN: I’ll admit...this got a bit darker than I intended towards the end. At the same time, it’s also far less boring than I originally planned. You all knew something like this would happen sooner or later, because Greg could only be lucky with powers for so long...before...well, this.</p><p>******************</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>why hasn’t Greg gone off to get more powers by now?</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>from what you told me before, Brockton Bay is just stuffed with them!</p><p><b>Me:</b> Some of the powers are too identifiable, and others aren’t really...useful to Greg.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>define “too identifiable” and define “useful to Greg”</p><p><b>Me:</b> Well, take Kaiser for instance. How would making swords come out of things help Greg?</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>he could make swords and sell them, practice with them, make heavy ones to lift...</p><p><b>Me:</b> ...okay, so that was an easy one. How about Faultline, and cutting stuff by touch?</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>go into the boat graveyard and shatter all the busted boats. </p><p><b>Me:</b> ...dang, I wish you’d been my pre-reader earlier. You got that in like, a second.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>seriously, there are so many cool powers that he should be out there grabbing.</p><p><b>Me:</b> This is where the “identifiable” part comes in. He uses those powers, and problems form.</p><p><b>Me:</b> Problems for the original owner, and also the owner knows there’s a power copier around.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>oh, good point. okay so he has to be smart about this. no big flashy stuff</p><p><b>Me:</b> Exactly! I’ve been making a list of the powers Greg is going after next</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>well don’t leave me hanging! spill already</p><p><b>Me:</b> So, now that he’s got sweet clothes, I figured why not go all the way?</p><p><b>Me:</b> Why not go copy a power off a Tinker, and make some sweet crime-fighting gear? </p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>so, since he’s in Brockton Bay, that means...Armsmaster? </span>
</p><p><b>Me:</b><span> Nah, too high profile. Luckily, Greg got a Wards Visit coupon or two for Xmas. </span> </p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>wow, lucky him! so he’s going after Kid Win?</p><p><b>Me:</b> Eh, either him or Gallant. Guy walks around in power armor and shoots lasers. </p><p><b>Me:</b> Total Tinker. Also really friendly, so copying off him should be safe personality-wise!</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Wednesday, Dec 29, 2010]</b>
</p><p>When I woke up on Wednesday, I had a moment where I couldn’t figure out whether I was still asleep or not. The past few days had been like a dream, and I think I could be excused for pinching myself once or twice. </p><p>A snapshot of now compared to a month ago was like night and day, and I had a feeling that things were still going to take a little to get used to. I kind of felt like I was on one of those prank shows, in that quiet moment before a bucket of flour or slime gets poured on someone.</p><p>
  <em> No, wait. This is really good. So maybe it’s more like one of those life-makeover shows. </em>
</p><p>Yeah, that sounded better. I felt like someone had kidnapped my old life off the streets, thrown a bag over its head, and then forced it to shape up. I’d started to look critically at choices that were bringing me down, and for once the improvements were stark. This wasn’t just some kind inner improvement, no...this was like a full rewrite from top to bottom for the Book of Greg.</p><p>My relationship with George was better, and our work together had reignited our shared interest in parahumans. Maybe it was because I wasn’t making them the main focus of my life, but my brother had been very interested in helping me out with the last few days. We were calling up old in-jokes between us, sharing a laugh over mistakes and pranks we’d pulled on each other, and had even managed to work side-by-side for several days without it being a minefield.</p><p>Speaking of no longer having to watch your step, I could now get out of bed and walk around without fear of tripping on clothes or stepping on a Lego. Thanks to Mom’s admittedly smelly punishments and George’s help, my room was so clean that Greg-of-Last-Month would have thought he’d been robbed. I still had a few comic boxes and hero figurines, but now the former were neatly stacked next to my new bookcase and the latter were prominently displayed.</p><p>If I ever had a friend visit, they’d actually be able to sit on my bed (which I’d somehow gotten in the habit of making) and see the cape merch that had really made an impact on me. Of course, at the moment my only friend was GstringGirl, but thanks to her advice and other ideas my life was getting better with every day that went by.</p><p>
  <em> Yeah, now I just need to fix my relationship with my parents, out myself to them, and... </em>
</p><p>My breath caught in my throat, and felt my heart race. I nearly lost my balance, stumbling and grabbing the desk as the thought of my parents knowing about my powers ran through my head. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on other things, and slowly calmed back down. </p><p>
  <em> Man, that was strange. Guess I must be hungry or dehydrated. I’m fine now. Where was I? </em>
</p><p>Okay, so <em> some things </em> were still a work in progress, but I’d get to my parents soon enough. Today I had something else on tap. A way to have fun, take my mind off dealing with them, and maybe even learn something about my powers in a safe way. While I’d previously worried about copying powers from people, today that wouldn’t be an issue. Today I was going to practice seeing powers, think about cool blends, and copy a <em> safe </em> Tinker power on the way out!</p><p>Because if anyone was mentally stable as far as personalities went, it was the Wards!</p><p>***</p><p>Waiting for the bus, I tried not to think about the odd look Dad had sent me as I headed for the door. Sure, he smiled and nodded after I told him I was going to use one of the Wards Tour passes that I got for Christmas, but it still felt strange to me. I knew I still hadn’t really made up with them completely, but today wasn’t a day for feelings and worry...it was a day for rest and learning.</p><p>I wasn’t going to put it off forever though...just saving that explanation for another time.</p><p>Thing was, I had no idea how I was going to do this. I mean, despite my big words and GstringGirl’s ideas, I was kind of zero and...<em> a whole lot </em> when it came to talking to my parents without making things worse. Usually they just gave me punishments and money in equal amounts, and-</p><p>
  <em> Oh man, I just realized that I also need to tell them how George and I are making money. </em>
</p><p>That was a whole other conversation, as well as such difficult questions as “Where did all these new clothes come from” and “How did you get them all here in one day with no help?” I’m pretty sure that I couldn’t just pull the ‘Improv Troupe’ excuse again, especially after last time.</p><p>No, I was going to deal with them tomorrow. </p><p>As I got on the bus and found a seat, I tried to put it out of my mind just a little bit longer. It would be tough, but I was going to talk to them, explain myself, and repair our relationship. Sure, I was worried about panicking and blabbing out <em> way more that I should </em>, but it’d be okay...</p><p>
  <em> I’ll talk to them first thing tomorrow. Or maybe in the afternoon? Evening? Evening! </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>Although the Wards started off as a way to “recruit and train the heroes of the next generation,” over the years their purpose and mission statement had changed to fit the times. A lot of that came from the Youth Guard stepping in to point out that if you were going to treat kids like super-powered soldiers then you should at least pay them minimum wage. After they got that, a yearly trust fund was created, special protections put in place, and then the real crusade started...to get them as little time in danger as possible!</p><p>Well, maybe it wasn’t quite like that, but you’d never know it from the posts made by Brockton Bay’s Wards on PHO (often edited or deleted after the fact). Luckily any forum-goer had a quick screenshot-finger, and thanks to people on the inside (like that Bagrat guy) I had what I considered a pretty well-rounded understanding of the Wards as a whole.</p><p>
  <em> Wish that would let me skip over this part of the tour. Ugh, could we walk any slower? </em>
</p><p>Unfortunately, the other people on the tour were snapping a dozen pictures every few feet and whispering to each other, so the guide was milking this for all it was worth. I sighed to myself and decided to treat this like they were trying to convince me to join the Wards.</p><p>
  <em> Not that it hasn’t crossed my mind, or anything. I just want more time to get my life together first. </em>
</p><p>Going solo was a disaster waiting to happen (I’d either be kidnapped by a gang or killed because I could out parahumans), so that was right out. Forming my own team was similarly doomed to failure, since I had no friends and could barely handle my own life. Joining New Wave was tempting...but so many of their powers were samey that I’d just be a carbon-copy of the other members. Finally, the Wards...I still needed more time to think about.</p><p>It was tempting, don’t get me wrong, but now that I was actually taking good advice, going easy on the power use, and trying to reconnect with my family, was this really the time for a huge change? </p><p>
  <em> That’s why I’m here now. Look at powers, meet the Wards, and copy a nice person’s Tinkering. </em>
</p><p>As if he’d been reading my mind, that was the precise moment when our tour finally reached the point I had been waiting for. We had arrived at a metal door with a button next to it, frosted glass windows on either side of it and an intercom near an unlit light. The guide waved his hand as if he was conducting an orchestra, then pressed the button...and waited.</p><p>I could barely make out an alarm through the door, and knew from online information that the Wards were hearing it louder than us. They had 60 seconds to either head to their dorm rooms, put on their masks/helmets, or at least put on some kind of domino mask. Once that timer hit zero, assuming they didn’t cancel it for some emergency reason, the door would open and the windows would lift...and the real reason I’d come here today would begin.</p><p>I rubbed my hands together, then realized that it looked really weird and stopped.</p><p>
  <em> Maybe take it down a notch. Calm down, Greg. It’s just 3-5 parahumans your own age. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Just some people you’ve never met who might end up forced to work with you someday. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Nothing to worry about. Easy. Barely worth worrying about! Take a few breaths. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Take more breaths, Greg. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>“That’s right, just breathe into the bag.” Gallant said, patting me on the back. His heavy armored hand felt as gentle as a feather, and I gave a grunting noise as I did so. “A lot of people get kind of excited when they first meet us, so it’s perfectly natural to panic a little.”</p><p>I took another breath, glad that the other people on the tour weren’t making a big deal about me hyperventilating a little bit. One of them had actually fainted, some guy from Toronto I think, and they’d had to call a medic to come check him out. Props to the PRT, they already had someone on staff ready nearby, and quickly revived the guy in under a few minutes.</p><p>“I’m going to go check in with the medics, but if you need anything just wave and we’ll come running. We’re here to help you, after all.” He gave me a thumbs-up, and I weakly returned it as the armored Ward walked off. He began chatting with the medical personnel, apparently telling them I was going to be okay and not in need of their services.</p><p>
  <em> I guess I was so focused on breathing that I started hyperventilating. Smooth, Greg. </em>
</p><p>Of course, it wasn’t just the breathing that had made me start feeling faint, there were several good reasons. Meeting new people, meeting new parahumans, meeting new parahumans that I might have been working with someday, and of course…</p><p>
  <em> All the powers! My god, and I thought Lung was a smorgasbord! So many options! </em>
</p><p>Not all of the Wards were here today, since I guess they kept them on a layered schedule of some kind. Kid Win was off on Patrol with Triumph, who was being promoted to the Protectorate a few weeks early. I guess he wanted to hang with his friends one last time. Clockblocker was doing something with Battery, and that left me with Shadow Stalker, Vista, Gallant, and Aegis.</p><p>While that normally wouldn’t have been an issue, the three main reasons I’d come here were for looking at powers (in case I joined), taking my mind off talking to my parents tomorrow, and grabbing a Tinker power. Kid Win’s absence was annoying, but Gallant had been just as good...or so I’d thought. Just to reassure myself I’d looked into him and seen-</p><p>
  <em> Why the hell is he wearing power armor and shooting lasers if he’s not a Tinker? Is he a fake? </em>
</p><p>Thus the hyperventilating, as it had hit me that I had just used my only sure-fire way of seeing the Wards and not even gotten a Tinker out of it. Yes, I know it was petty, and that I could probably still think of some fun blends, but this meant that my plans of spending the day experimenting with a Tinker power had effectively gone down the toilet. I found myself crumpling up the paper bag and glaring at Gallant, looking into him and his non-Tinker powers.</p><p>Gallant’s powers were rainbows. I don’t mean that in some kind of jokey way. I mean that he literally (well, figuratively, because powers) had rainbows inside of him representing his powers. Two of them, in fact.</p><p>The first was a rainbow that kept rushing around inside of him, bumping into things. I had the feeling that it could pack quite a punch when it hit something, and even saw it collect for a few seconds and then blast forwards like a colorful cannonball. In fact...that’s what I decided to call it, the <em> Colorful Cannonball. </em></p><p>The second rainbow was more of an orb, and felt like it was constantly shifting colors in a way that reminded me of Glory Girl’s <em> Bipolar Tornado </em> . It took me a few moments to figure it out, but then he glanced at me and I saw it change to something I recognized as Curiosity. Kind of like that beam I’d shot at Emma’s friend. That’s when I realized that this was an <em> Emotion Sense </em> power of some kind, and that was a good enough name.</p><p>The really interesting thing was that the second power felt like it was <em> connected </em> to the first one, in the same way the Emotion Reservoir that had been in my <em> Targeted Empathy </em>blend had. I didn’t actually see him use it, but from this setup it made me think that he could use it with the first power to shoot emotions at people. It was more complex that my own version of that had been, making me wonder if it let him shoot emotions without having to feel them himself.</p><p>
  <em> Wait, if I can read emotions, that’ll make it easier to talk to my parents. Okay, let’s test it. </em>
</p><p>Gallant was honest and kind, so I carefully copied his <em> Emotion Sense </em>, figuring it would be a nice simple power that would let me gauge which of the Wards was most approachable for talking. I mean, even aside from my ulterior motives, this was my first time actually meeting them in person, so why not try to talk to them? </p><p>
  <em> Okay, so now I can see auras around people. Colors matching to moods? Interesting! </em>
</p><p>Shadow Stalker was finding something funny, Vista seemed to be getting annoyed (a tourist kept asking her to sign stuff, so that checked out), Aegis was bored, that tourist was embarrassed, Gallant was…</p><p>
  <em> Gallant is coming my way. Can’t read him. Oh right, probably protected from his own power. </em>
</p><p>Looking as calm as I could, despite panicking inside (<em> Crap, Gallant can probably see that </em>), I closed my eyes and resumed using the bag. I heard Aegis say something to Gallant, and the sound of his footfalls stopped.</p><p>I could feel a certain sense of calm honesty flowing through me, and figured it was probably Gallant’s personality leaking in. The guy seemed to have a good head on his shoulders and really enjoyed settling disputes. It made me want to talk to my parents...but I was still worried about blabbing my secrets to them. Good thing I had that bag, because I started using it faster.</p><p>
  <em> Wish I could copy Aegis’ power to control his body, but for my brain. Stop the panic. Wait... </em>
</p><p>As I opened my eyes with that thought on my mind, I wasn’t startled by the loud female voices from my right. I wasn’t bothered by Gallant looking over at me, and starting to move in my direction again before Aegis stopped him. I didn’t feel any concern over the whispered conversation they held, with me as the rather obvious target. None of it mattered.</p><p>No, what mattered to me was that the brain was part of the body, and that I had a great idea.</p><p>
  <em> I’m actually glad Gallant isn’t a Tinker...this is going to be so much better! </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>In retrospect, I should have realized this sooner and gotten over my disappointment, but I guess I had a lot on my mind. Talking to my parents, meeting parahuman teenagers, heading back to school soon, the relative unknowns of my cape career path, and more...there was a lot going on that was starting to pile up on me. I had to imagine that the Wards were long since used to all the pressures that came from that, as well as being in the public eye and so much more.</p><p>Which is why I was looking at Aegis right now. The leader of the Wards (with Triumph leaving very soon, they’d already handed it over), he was calm, cool, and stylish in rust-colored armor. He could take any hit, fight until the battle was won, and never gave up. I’d seen him flying and running out of a burning building once, ignoring pain and heat for over an hour before Assault finally forced him to stop.</p><p>
  <em> And inside of him, his powers are...is that mud? Clay? Also, why’s there only one power? </em>
</p><p>I knew off the top of my head that Aegis had flight, super strength, some kind of adaptation power, healing to make that power work, and seemingly limitless endurance. I’d seen a video of him getting stabbed through the stomach without flinching (as someone who has been shot in the gut, I can say that it hurts...a lot), as well as having an arm chopped off with the same reaction. Yet as I looked inside of him now, there was nothing more than a Clay Blob.</p><p>Then he floated a bit, darting in front of Gallant as the boy tried to move in my direction, and the blob floated as well. I saw Gallant close one power-armored fist over Aegis wrist, and the Clay Blob deformed...then regenerated as Gallant let go. Aegis gently pushed his friend back and whispered to him, while inside of him the Clay Blob got tougher and condensed.</p><p>
  <em> I thought his power was adaptation...but...oh my god, is he actually adapting to everything? </em>
</p><p>This was huge! Unlike Lung with his 4 powers or Velocity with two intertwined ones, Aegis just had one power that was responsible for several effects! His power was adapting to gravity by making him float, adapting to injury by making him heal, adapting to combat/challenges by giving him limitless adrenaline and energy! It knew he felt pain a lot, so it erased the pain…</p><p>
  <em> My greatest fear of talking to my parents is my panic...and not knowing how they’re reacting. </em>
</p><p>So all I had to do was blend Aegis’ power with Gallant’s, and I’d get a power that would keep me calm <em> and </em> let me see how people really felt! This was perfect, because it meant I could calmly speak to my family while at the same time reading their moods and reacting accordingly. I could adapt to panic, read the room, and even have the personalities of two heroes to guide me!</p><p>Happily, I reached out and copied <em> Emotion Sense </em> from Gallant and <em> Clay Blob </em> from Aegis. They blended, taking on the shape of what...kind of looked like my own head, though shaped from Clay and with two rainbow orbs for eyes. I eagerly slipped it into my core, and felt like the world sort of shook in place before going still.</p><p>Then things got very...odd? There’s probably a better word, but I had seen Gallant finally making his way over to me. I felt a dozen little fears and anxieties run through me, and with each one found it easier and easier to push them aside. </p><p>Inside of me the clay head was deforming and shaking...but then it suddenly wasn’t. I felt like a boat that had been rocking in a stormy sea, suddenly transported to a placid lake of perfect…</p><p>Calm. </p><p>That was the best word. I felt calm. Like nothing was worth worrying about.</p><p>
  <em> It kind of feels like everything is fine, for the first time in a long time. </em>
</p><p>Everything was fine.</p><p>***</p><p>“Look, I’m sorry to bother you, but I can’t help but get the feeling that you’re going through something pretty tough right now.” Gallant said, coming to a halt in front of me and shrugging Aegis’ hand off his shoulder. He almost reached out to do the same for me, but I just stared at his hand until he gently retracted it. “You’ve had a pretty crazy tour, and it would be perfectly understandable if you felt a bit...off.”</p><p>“I feel fine.” I replied, in a voice that I barely recognized as my own. It was like listening to a recording of myself, except that all emotion had been removed. I didn’t sound bored, annoyed, sad, or any other notable emotion. I just sounded...calm. I looked over his shoulder and saw that Shadow Stalker seemed to be arguing loudly with Vista. “I appreciate your concern, but I think you should be more worried about those two.”</p><p>“Right, I could really use your help with that Gallant.” Aegis said, and I saw Gallant’s annoyance spike even through his armor. My new power apparently had the emotion-sensing power of Gallant’s old version, but now instead of color-coding I just...knew. So many little things all came together to tell me how he felt, although without any indication as to why. I could see from the hunch of his shoulders, hear from the tone of his voice, and understand from the way he moved his fingers. He was 60% concerned and 30% annoyed, with about 10% angry. “Let’s go.”</p><p>“No, Aegis, you don’t get it.” Gallant grabbed the flying cape’s shoulder and dragged him aside, Aegis’ eyes (the only visible part of him with his armor and helmet) telling me he was exasperated, confused, and feeling disrespected. Gallant must have forgotten to turn his speakers down, because I heard some of his words. “-has no color at all. It’s like looking at a robot or something! Humans can’t do that, and even that Buddhist monk I met had some-”</p><p>
  <em> Ah. He can see my power. He is disconcerted by my perfect calm. Hmm. How to solve this? </em>
</p><p>Realizing that I was going to have to prove my trustworthiness, I smartly marched over to the two of them. They appeared surprised (30% for Aegis and 60% for Gallant, with a smattering of other emotions for both) but allowed me to speak, both with a growing curiosity. I was starting to get a feel for the power I was calling <em> Emotional Compensation. </em> Perhaps <em> Emotional Balance </em>?</p><p>
  <em> I’m usually more creative than this. Is it because of the power? It is getting kind of hard to thin- </em>
</p><p>“Sorry, but I’ve been going through a lot at home. School starts up again soon, and I worry about how disrespectful my classmates will be.” I smiled at both, feeling my lips move on my face and certain I wasn’t overdoing it. It felt strange, like wearing a fake mustache, but I ignored it. “I imagine it must be how Aegis feels, being made the Wards leader but rarely being treated as one so far. A leader should be listened to, but Gallant is not being a good teammate.”</p><p>“Yes, I agree wholeheartedly!” Aegis grabbed Gallant’s arm, cutting off the other boy. I was certain that he was going to say the same thing, and gave them both a nod before turning around and walking away. “Gallant, come talk with me over here. That’s an order.”</p><p>I heard the sound of Gallant’s armor and Aegis’ costume clacking against each other, and glanced back to see the latter with his arm over the former’s shoulders in a show of friendship and solidarity. It filled me with joy for a moment, but then the power kicked in and that vanished. I wondered why Gallant was showing fear, surprise, and annoyance, but shrugged it off.</p><p>
  <em> This power blend is excellent. Every time I start to feel anything but calm, it adapts. </em>
</p><p>I tried thinking about the things that worried me. Parahumans, my parents, explaining my cape status, talking about the ABB, fighting Lung again, the E88, Knife Guy, Taylor, Emma, Sophia, and...nope, no problems. Every time I thought about them, there was a tiny spike of some emotion besides calm...but then it just faded away. It was like magic.</p><p>
  <em> I may as well meet two other Wards while I’m here. This is going so well! </em>
</p><p>My best guess was that my sudden interest in helping people, as well as my incredible honesty, was influenced by both the power and the personalities of Gallant and Aegis. The power prevented me from feeling much of anything, so my own personality was <em> subsumed </em>, making their personalities take me over entirely. Both were very honest and helpful, so now...I was!</p><p>It wasn’t all clear sailing, though. I worried about the long-term effects of this power, as well as what would happen to me emotionally if I released it. There was also the fact that eventually I would have to sleep, and then wake up as the panicky Greg again. I’d have to sleep in this bed I was making eventually, and there was also the worry of Thinker Confusion/Memory loss...</p><p>...or at least, I <em> was </em> worried, until the power wiped those fears away like a fancy towel on an infomercial removed spills. Why should I even think about that?</p><p>
  <em> I can keep myself calm, I can speak the truth without fear, and I can fix problems.  </em>
</p><p>Shadow Stalker appeared to be teasing Vista, both showing signs of enjoyment (70% and 88% respectively). This confused me, because the words they were saying were not at all kind, yet they seemed to enjoy each other’s company. The confusion soon vanished, and I decided that I should still say something. </p><p>I could help! They would be more likely to accept me later on, whether I had this power or not. </p><p>Although, with how effective I was with this power...why use any other power?</p><p>As I explained the situation to Vista and Shadow Stalker, I noticed their body language change from a mix of enjoyment and boredom to almost 100% shame and anger. Obviously they were ashamed of acting so childish in front of tourists and each other, as well as angry at themselves for misbehaving and potentially damaging their relationships. I was glad I had been able to assist them, and would do so even more if I ever joined the Wards.</p><p>While I was watching them whisper at each other, the smaller one holding her larger friend (<em> interesting, they appear to actually be friends </em>) back from thanking me for some reason, I glanced at their powers. Vista’s was like rubber, and Shadow Stalker’s was an angry cloud. </p><p><em> Didn’t I used to be more creative than this? Is the power killing my cleverness? </em> </p><p>***</p><p>The tour came to an end and I headed home. I made sure to smile at all of the Wards on my way out, my perfect calm keeping me even-keeled and at ease with my surroundings. </p><p>Now I would return home, speak with my parents, and fix things there as well. Some of the truths I had spoken on Christmas Eve may have been hard for them to hear, but I was certain they would see that this was necessary in the end. </p><p>
  <em> This doesn’t feel right. I think I need to turn this power off. Something’s wrong! </em>
</p><p>I started to reach into my core to deactivate the power, but stopped before even touching it. Why would I want to remove the power? It wasn’t like anything was wrong! In fact, all was well.</p><p>Sure, there were little spikes of fear or worry inside me, but the power managed to push them away. Every time they appeared, my power adapted to them and they grew weaker. I was pretty sure Aegis’ power was preventing me from even being able to experience emotions! A realization hit me that this power could have been dangerous, but I shook it off.</p><p>
  <em> I can’t turn the power off because...oh crap! I can’t worry or feel any sense of danger! </em>
</p><p>I was having some minor memory problems, but nothing too...um...bad. Yes, that was the word. </p><p>But that wasn’t a word that I needed. Nothing was bad. Things were good.</p><p>Everything was fine.</p><p>****************</p><p>AN: A smart comment I get on this story is people pointing out that just grabbing powers willy-nilly is dangerous, and even worse since Greg gets personality pressure from their owners. In this case, he figured that the Wards were calm, cool, collected, and...y’know, heroes! But he didn’t stop to think that Aegis’ calm might not be by choice, or how dangerous truth could be.</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Finally! Greg has the self-control, emotional understanding, and opportunity to actually talk to his family. Admittedly he only has all that because he’s under the influence of his powers, but you have to start somewhere. Will he finally out himself, or will his parents be too creeped out by a normally wild son who appears to have Mastered himself?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. 2.5: Dealing With My Family</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Is Greg ever going to apologize to his family?</p><p><b>Me:</b> ...you mean he didn’t already do that? </p><p><b>Me:</b> I mean, there was that whole Christmas thing, and everything seemed fine afterwards.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>That doesn’t count! you used your Deus ex machina thinker powers to do it</p><p><b>GstringGirl:</b> even worse, you didn’t actually show the reader what happened. soooo lazy!</p><p><b>Me:</b> In Greg’s defense, the story is written from his POV. Thinker powers blanked his mind, so... </p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>that’s a weak excuse and you know it. besides, it was just a band-aid</p><p><b>GstringGIrl:</b> He needs to actually come clean with them, and be honest about stuff</p><p><b>Me:</b> I’m not...sure he’s ready to out himself to them as a cape yet.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>not that stuff! I mean all the other things. </p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>he was brave enough to confront them Christmas Eve, so why not try again?</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>except this time, sit down and have a calm discussion.</p><p><b>Me:</b> That sounds dangerous. Last time they questioned him, after the Lung thing…</p><p><b>Me:</b> ...he panicked. Blabbed a lot of stuff. If they hadn’t misinterpreted it, it could have been bad.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>doesn’t mean he shouldn’t try. maybe he could write a script?</p><p><b>GstringGirl:</b> what he needs is some way to stay calm, think about his words, and then...</p><p><b>Me:</b> Pray for a miracle?</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>no! speak from the heart!</p><p><b>GstringGirl:</b> ...but yeah, probably that too. can’t hurt to try.</p><p><b>GstringGirl:</b> maybe grab a power too, if there are any powers that work on parents?</p><p><b>Me:</b> Unfortunately, I think all parents are Manton-Limited.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Well, shit.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Wednesday, Dec 29, 2010] </b>
</p><p>I had dealt with a lot these past few weeks, but things were finally going to be fine.</p><p>They had to be, because I’d finally found the perfect blend of powers to keep from screwing up my relationship with my parents. True, I was getting a little tired and having some minor confusion issues, but it wasn’t anything too terrible. Okay, so maybe I got lost for a minute on the way home from the bus stop, but that was only because I was so deep in thought. Yeah.</p><p>Soon I’d be home, and then I could put this power to the use I’d copied and blended it for. It would keep me calm, give me amazing insights, and let me be a son they could be proud of.</p><p>The power I was currently using, <em> Emotional Compensation </em>, was the cause of my newfound calm. It combined Gallant’s power to see emotions with Aegis’ adaptability, and thus far had given me the best of both worlds. </p><p>It was useful to be able to read people and their moods. For instance, the old man passing me now was 30% happy, 60% hopeful, and...10% sad. He nearly tripped on his cane and I saw the sadness and hopefulness switch.</p><p>But the real gem was Aegis’ power, a Brute ability that seemed to be preventing my brain from being overrun with any of the nasty chemicals that normally drove a person to be anything other than calm. No matter how hard my subconscious and self-doubt tried to make me worry about the upcoming conversations, they slid off me like water off a duck’s back. That meant I could talk to my parents without lying, panicking, or otherwise messing this up.</p><p>I was going to tell the truth, point out their mistakes as parents, and finally fix this broken family with my own two hands. I would even be able to talk about what I had been up to for the past two weeks, without needing to lie or twist the truth. I would stay calm.</p><p>Best of all, I would finally be able to confirm that my parents and brother really didn’t believe me. I would be able to actually see with my own eyes (through the power) under the masks they wore. I could catch them in lies, reveal them as the flawed people they really were, and together...we would grow as a family. It was going to be great.</p><p>
  <em> Everything is going to be horrible! I might out myself as a cape, insult them, or even worse! </em>
</p><p>Certainly, there were some minor issues, like the occasional spikes of panic and self-doubt rolling through me, but they were barely enough to make me twitch now. Also, I had to be careful, lest I start getting confusion from overusing what was now a Thinker/Brute power, but the thought of being careful also faded from my mind. Hmm, that was unfortunate. </p><p>Everything was going to be...um..what was the word? Ah yes, fine!</p><p>
  <em> I can’t give up. I keep getting little flashes of emotion. Sooner or later, I’ll make it through. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>“Welcome home, Greg.” Dad and George were on the couch, watching some documentary about...surgery by the look of it. Both had been focused on the TV, showing a smattering of emotions, but that changed when I entered. Dad was now mostly happy, and George was primarily worried. They looked at me, “Did you need something? You’ve just been staring at us for the last minute. Want to join us, maybe?”</p><p>“No, I’m not at all interested in that.” I spoke frankly, ignoring George’s reply and turning to Dad. We had been getting along very well lately, and I knew that he appreciated my honesty. In fact, he had even asked me to be honest with him before, so this probably came as a welcome surprise. “Dad, I need to speak to you and Mom. Could you please fetch her?”</p><p>“Um. Okay. I guess we’re at a good stopping point, right George?” Dad glanced at George and got a shrug in return. He stood and began to move towards the stairs. On the way, he gave me an extravagant bow, and started using a British accent. “I shall go and fetch her, Master Veder.”</p><p>I started to put my smile on again, lips spreading across my face, but then the motivation for doing so just faded. This was a serious moment, and I didn’t want him going into it with jokes on the mind. He paused as I failed to react, and I saw he was nervous and confused. </p><p>It confirmed something I had long suspected...the jokes Dad used all the time were some sort of defense or deflection mechanism. They allowed him to discount anything I said, ignore my opinions, and try to make light of my accomplishments. He wasn’t really trying to be a father.</p><p>
  <em> Or maybe they’re just creeped out by their son suddenly acting like he’s been Mastered. </em>
</p><p>I ignored my voice of self-doubt, pacing across the room and waiting for Dad to return with Mom. George looked as if he wanted to speak to me, but I had no interest in going through this twice. Despite my avoidance of his gaze, he still moved to intercept me and put an arm over my shoulders.</p><p>“Greg, is now really the best time for you to talk about you-know-what?” He whispered, glancing up at the ceiling as Mom and Dad moved around up there. He was almost entirely nervous now, with only the smallest hints of fear and...was that aggression? Was he going to try and fight me to keep me from speaking? “It’s been a really nice few days, maybe we should talk about whatever you’re going to say, just the two of us? Do you have any-”</p><p>“I think I will be fine, George.” I shrugged his arm off, and moved to the other side of the room. My voice stayed at its normal level the entire time, despite a spike of heavy fear from him as he rushed to close with me. I dodged around the couch, moving just fast enough to put it between the two of us. “I know what I’ll be saying, and will be able to get through to all three of you. It would be a waste of time and effort if I reviewed my plans with you ahead of...um...time.”</p><p>
  <em> Did I seriously just forget the word for time? Hey George! Knock me out or something! </em>
</p><p>The annoyance must have shown on my face for a moment, because George held up both hands and took a step back. His voice stayed down, but I refused to move closer for what was obviously a trick of some kind. “Okay, okay! Fine. I guess we’ll just play it by ear, then. I just want you to know that I think this is a-”</p><p>“Okay Greg, I hope this is worth interrupting your mother’s nap.” Dad clomped down the stairs, cutting off whatever George was about to say. He was followed by Mom, who looked rumpled and was dressed in sweatpants and an ugly Christmas sweater. She let Dad guide her to the couch, then the two of them took a seat. “So, what’s up? By the way, nice clothes, son!”</p><p>I ignored the empty compliment, staring at George until he sighed and went to join them. He looked annoyed and defeated, still with fear running through him, and I waited until all three were seated before closing my eyes. I would need my full concentration for this first part.</p><p>“Sandra, Stanley, George...thank you for coming.” I started off with their names, wanting us to begin on even footing, and setting the tone for this frank discussion. I took a deep breath, then opened my eyes and beheld looks of confusion as they glanced at each other. “I know that the past few weeks may have been confusing, and that the changes and decisions I’ve made may have seemed confusing. Today, I hope to clear some of that up.”</p><p>“Well, that’s just great, son.” Dad smiled, then glanced at Mom and motioned with a hand. She looked annoyed at something, possibly because it was one of the first times I had called her by her first name, but she eventually smiled uncertainly. “I think a talk like this has really been overdue for a while. There’s just been so much going on, it’s been hard to find the time.”</p><p>“That’s right, Greg.” Mom nodded, her eyes flicking over to Dad before she continued. “I know that things got a bit heated a few days back, and that we might have been smothering you a little. It was the first time we’d really spent a lot of time together, 24/7 with your parents can’t have been easy. I understand if you’re feeling like we were pushing you too hard.”</p><p>“Not at all, I understand the lessons you were trying to teach me. This is about everything around that punishment, as well as the underlying issues that brought my actions about in the first place.” I sighed, preparing the first of the statements I had come up with on the walk home. It was a rather simple statement that was sure to...sure to…um...</p><p>...I couldn’t remember what I had just been talking about. Why were my parents here?</p><p>“Well, let me just jump in here.” George’s distraction snapped me out of my self-reflection, and I felt the non-calm feelings immediately start to recede. Despite my interest in continuing to speak, he apparently had the floor and both of my parents had turned to face him. “Greg and I have really been getting along well the last few days, and I think that an open conversation like this is exactly what we needed to have. Maybe we can each bring up a topic, and then-”</p><p>“No, that won’t be necessary.” I cut George off, seeing that he was trying to divert my carefully-planned conversation. He was probably hoping to avoid sensitive topics, like the ones that had returned to me in a flash. Wanting to take advantage of the moment, before these mysterious memory problems returned, I quickly added. “I went out to a party the night you three left for George’s party in Boston.”</p><p>“You did what?” If Mom had been tired and thoughtful before, that all vanished in a flash. While George looked like he wanted to put his face in his hands and Dad appeared to be unsure whether to be proud (my son’s first big party) or angry (my son snuck out), Mom’s face was much easier to read. She was furious, and I could see her legendary anger starting to boil over like a volcano. “You promised that you would be a responsible adult! What were you thinking?”</p><p>“Well, hold on, Mom.” George, apparently trying to play damage control, held out a hand. He swiftly drew it back as though her vision was going to burn his hand off, and then turned it into a sort of wave. “It was probably just a friend’s house, here in town. He probably went for a few hours, drank some soda, and then came home and crashed. Greg’s not the sort to go to-”</p><p>“It was in an Empire 88 neighborhood, several miles from here.” In just a few words, I made George’s attempt to mediate crash and burn. Both parents turned back to face me, and George wisely stopped trying to interfere. “I was invited by a classmate, but it was just a prank they were using to mess with me. I was chased by a nazi with a knife, and slept in a park because I ran so much that I passed out from exhaustion.”</p><p>
  <em> No! You idiot! </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>I had expected that my truth bomb would feel like I had let a huge weight off my shoulders, but instead I just felt tense...until my power made it go away. No, now only the tiniest amount of self-righteous fascination was at the edge of my mind, as well as the panic that was refusing to go down. I ignored it, because now it was <em> finally </em> time!</p><p>As all three of them began to react, I focused on my <em> Emotion Sense </em>. </p><p>This was it, the moment of truth. </p><p>I would finally see all their anger, all their disappointment, and all their self-righteous opinions on display. They would say they expected better, but I’d be able to see that it was a lie. They would wave their hands and make promises, but the bright and shining emotions underneath would make all the song and dance vanish.</p><p>
  <em> Why did I tell them the truth? How will my family ever forgive me for lying to them? </em>
</p><p>It was time to see their true selves. It was time to see my family for what they <em> really </em> were.</p><p>I looked at George, the brother who always had to point out my failings and mistakes. Who had only helped me the last few days because he wanted to treat me like a project, and because I had led off with telling him that he was my inspiration. He was going to be looking at my parents and telling them that he told them so, that they should have expected this. Because I was a...</p><p>“Greg, I...I’m so sorry that you had to go through that.” George said, his hand over his mouth as he started to rise from his seat. He flopped back down onto the couch. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have called friends in town to help you, given you advice...anything but let you be alone! Please, I’m your brother, I’m supposed to be there for you!”</p><p>
  <em> Look at that. He’s not lying. He’s concerned for me. He’s feeling shame for failing me. </em>
</p><p>I ignored George and my rising feelings of panic, turning my eyes to Dad. Dad always had a joke for everything I did. Always found a way to trivialize my every action. The man was only good for two things...comedy and advice. His comedy was to deflect responsibility, and the advice was so that he could feel smart. He was a doctor, good with words, and…</p><p>“G-greg. I-I-I...I’m so s-sorry.” Dad stuttered, finally swallowing and collecting himself a little. He started to put his face in his hands, then realized he’d have to look away from me and just put them on top of his head instead. He let out a sniffle, his eyes watering as he leaned forward. George tried to whisper something to him, but he just pulled away and shouted. “No! I can’t excuse this! Greg was right! I s-should have done more than just make st-stupid jokes! This is my fault!”</p><p>
  <em> He believes that. He thinks this is his fault. He hates himself for not being a better dad to me. </em>
</p><p>I was having trouble staying calm, and tore my eyes away from George and Dad. The two of them were hugging, and I couldn’t bear to see them pretending (<em> they’re NOT pretending </em>) to be sad about all this. I looked at Mom, but she was gone from the couch...she was standing right next to me. Her face was almost unreadable, if not for my power, and I...I...</p><p>I staggered backwards, looking away from her and trying to put the couch between us. She started to move in my direction, and I tried to focus on what I remembered about her. She had always been...always punished me and forced me to read books about...things I hated. </p><p>Sure, I liked them after the fact, but at first they were all so terrible and...interesting? </p><p>No! No, she also used to tell me I couldn’t do things! She was only there to shut me down!</p><p>Yes, they were dangerous, but that didn’t mean...mean…that she didn’t...</p><p>“Gregory.” Mom’s voice stayed where it was, and I could see her hand reaching towards me. She stayed back, and her voice quavered, but I refused to look at her. I didn’t want to see-</p><p>
  <em> Look at her. </em>
</p><p>-didn’t want to see her. I didn’t need the powers to know the truth about her. I tried to ignore her, but she kept talking, her voice halting. “I know that I’ve made mistakes, and that I haven’t always understood you. Understood your interests. Understood your habits, your clothes, or even some of the things you say. But you-”</p><p>
  <em> Look at Mom. Look at her pain. She’s trying to reach out. Stop avoiding this. </em>
</p><p>“-you will always be my son. You will always be the little boy who wanted to be a superhero someday. Who wanted to wear a cape on his first day of school. Who let me sew him a little pocket in his shirt so nobody would make fun of him on his second day. My s-son. My baby.”</p><p>
  <em> LOOK AT HER, DAMMIT! </em>
</p><p>I looked at her, unshed tears in her eyes and...I realized...in my eyes as well. Why was I crying?</p><p>My power wasn’t stopping the panic, the fear, the sadness, the regret, the shame anymore. It couldn’t keep up, and I tried to reach into my core to try and force the power to work as I saw my mother start to break down. I held the power but couldn’t remember why I had grabbed it?</p><p>
  <em> I need to release this damn power! I don’t need it! I never needed it! </em>
</p><p>I...why was I holding this power? Who were these crying people? What had happened to them?</p><p>
  <em> RELEASE THE POWER! </em>
</p><p>I released the power, unsure why...it just seemed like a really good idea. </p><p>A tidal wave of emotions struck me, and I found myself rushing forward and slamming into a woman...who was...how could I have forgotten my own mother? My own family? Even for a moment?</p><p>I didn’t even notice as Dad and George joined us, or ask why we were all on the floor.</p><p>
  <em> They love me. They care about me. They were worried about me. My family. </em>
</p><p>I wasn’t sure why, but I knew that they loved me.</p><p>I knew I loved them.</p><p>***</p><p>In the aftermath of our Big Family Cry, the four of us all agreed to get cleaned up and have a meal. We originally planned to leave the talking for afterwards...but then one of us started, and the next thing I knew we were all going. </p><p>One of the first things I did was admit that I felt a lot of pressure when I was put on the spot. That I had some real issues with anxiety and self-doubt, especially when I had my parents bearing down on me. They both apologized, and then George joined in and said that he’d had similar problems and had just tried to push through them. Given that he still had those problems even as an adult, they seemed to take that as a sign to back off a little.</p><p>
  <em> Who’d have thought? George knows what it’s like to be me...because at one point he was me. </em>
</p><p>After that, the conversation was a lot easier, and covered a wide range of topics. Since I was able to take my time and think, I managed to keep a few things to myself. No matter how great it felt to be honest, there were some things that my parents couldn’t do anything about right now. Maybe someday, but right now I had to keep a few things under my hat...for several reasons.</p><p>I explained the teasing and bullying I got at school, but left the names of the perpetrators out of it. Emma was always bragging about her dad being some bigshot lawyer, and the school had never once done anything about any bullying complaint. Winslow had problems that couldn’t just be solved by a few people, and I didn’t want my parents to throw away all their time and money on lawsuits and such that wouldn’t go anywhere. Maybe there was another way?</p><p>The events of Friday were explained in full, minus my trigger, any names, and the fact that I’d been passed up by Velocity. I might have been working with him again someday, and looking back I could see how Knife Guy might have been good at hiding his weapon from a hero. I wasn’t going to put full blame on Velocity. I promised to go with Dad to the police and describe Knife Guy, but knew not much would come of it. Still, it would make him feel better.</p><p>I finally apologized to George for always insulting Melody, and really everyone he dated. I admitted that I had been afraid they were ‘stealing’ him from me. He put a hand on my shoulder and told me that wasn’t the case, and I knew it wasn’t...but it was hard to explain how it felt. I still worried about him, about the day he’d move away, or get married, and I’d lose him.</p><p>But it wasn’t like we could fix all of our problems in just one day. We were all getting pretty exhausted, and between my powers and other emotional floods I was practically falling over. We all agreed to try and talk like this more often, and I think we made some real progress. There were a few days left in the holiday, so we’d have time to talk some more.</p><p>Before I headed up to my room, Mom and Dad stopped me and gave me one last hug. George had gone off to call Melody before bed, so we had the whole house to ourselves. </p><p>
  <em> If there was ever a time to open up to them, to out myself as a parahuman...this is it! </em>
</p><p>“Mom, Dad…” I trailed off, feeling my heart start to race. I was having trouble talking, and felt my breath catch in my throat. I was going to keep it simple. Just three words. Come on! “I’m...the thing is...I know I’m…I’m....”</p><p>I felt my vision start to tunnel, and I worried about what they would say. How they would react.</p><p>
  <em> Why is this so hard? ‘I’m a parahuman!’ Just say it! I know they love me, why can’t I talk? </em>
</p><p>I choked, tears coming to my eyes as I thought about how angry they’d be, or disappointed.</p><p>
  <em> How can I possibly make up for all the things I’ve done? All the lies? My heart is racing...I... </em>
</p><p>Dad reached out and put a hand on my shoulder, both of them staring at me kindly as I stopped trying to speak. I slowly got my breathing back under control, but it didn’t escape my notice the way they traded glances before turning back to face me. </p><p>“It’s okay, Greg. I understand how you feel,” Dad finally said, a serious expression on his face. He started to say something else, then sighed. “When I was your age...I thought I was pretty messed up as well.”</p><p>“Dad, I’m not...I’m trying to say that I’m-”</p><p>“No, let me say this, son.” Dad cut me off, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He looked troubled, and Mom tangled her fingers through his before he continued. “When I was a kid, I had a stutter, I was dumb as a rock, and everyone always made fun of me. I thought I was good at football and had friends on the team, but they only wanted me around because they wanted to feel superior to me. They were bullies, but I never knew it...or how to fight them.”</p><p>“He wasn’t the only one.” Mom smiled shyly, an expression I had never seen on her. She looked down at the floor. “You think you were a nerdy outcast? I was so uncool that nobody would talk to me, and the girls used to break into my locker and dump juice on all my books. They just did it because it made them feel better, I suppose. I hid in the library, but that didn’t fix anything.”</p><p>“What we’re getting at is that you’re not the first Veder to have problems, and you won’t be the last. There’s a long line of nerdy outcasts stretching back through your ancestry, Greg.” Dad smiled, and this time it looked more genuine than anything I’d ever seen on him. Mom’s expression mirrored it, and I felt like I wanted to share that expression. “You don’t need to think that people hate you, or worry that you’re alone against the world. We’re here for you.”</p><p>“That’s right. That’s the secret that we discovered, your father and I.” Mom smiled, leaning in as if revealing something lost to time. “Two outcasts, working together, are more than just twice as powerful...they’re also at least ten times as clever.”</p><p>“Exactly!” Dad crowed, flexing his biceps. “I may have been strong alone, but with your mother on my side I was able to take on a whole team of bullies. Then your mother helped me overcome my own anxieties, and I helped her make her bullies back the hell off.”</p><p>“Not that we condone shoving a bunch of teenage girls into the janitor’s closet and then breaking off the lock,” Mom elbowed Dad. “Or doing it after your girlfriend sedates a skunk and throws it in that closet beforehand.”</p><p>“Yes, and you definitely shouldn’t convince an entire football team that they’ve been exposed to a deadly toxin and give them several bottles of Nair done up as a medicated shampoo.” Dad poked Mom in the ribs, and she giggled as he added, “Or get your boyfriend to paint himself in zombie makeup and pretend to be dead to...motivate them.”</p><p>As the two of them started to laugh and whisper, I realized that for all the stories I’d heard, there was still so much more I wanted to know about my parents. I also knew that they were trying to give me an out of some kind, that they’d seen how uncomfortable I was. I went up to bed, keeping my secret of being a parahuman to myself...for just a little bit longer.</p><p>
  <em> I was probably just exhausted. I can try again in a few days. Maybe a week? </em>
</p><p>I still took more than a few minutes to drift off, as there were two big worries on my mind. First and foremost was that this particular blend of powers had been incredibly dangerous. Not only to my well being physically (especially if Aegis’ power really <em> was </em> doing stuff to my brain to protect it from chemicals), but also because powers I had thought to be safe <em> weren’t </em>. </p><p>I hadn’t experienced any major memory loss, but a few things were a little fuzzy. The confusion had been real though, and if I’d kept it up much longer I might have really hurt myself. What if I had gone to the wrong house, or crossed the street without looking both ways? </p><p>
  <em> Maybe it’s time to start thinking about Power Testing...or at least to call Hobson again. </em>
</p><p>I was distracted with realizing that I could have hurt a lot of feelings, or started a fight with that <em> brutal honesty </em> I’d been showing. I’d been able to see emotions, sure, but my intuition had been completely gone! Thinking that the Wards were actually happy for me shaming them in front of tourists? Damn, I was lucky that the other people on the tour had been forbidden from video recording, or footage of me treating them like that might have gotten me sued or something.</p><p>
  <em> Okay, lesson learned. When I see them again, I’ll just admit that it was anxiety and panic. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I mean, technically I only took the power to try and overcome my anxiety, right? </em>
</p><p>The other worry was a big task that I wanted to take care of before going back to school, and was drawing a blank on how to handle it. As I lay there, it suddenly struck me that I could actually talk to Mom, Dad, and George about this problem now. I mean, of course I was going to ask GstringGirl first, but if she was uncertain (or even if she wasn’t), I had other options now.</p><p>I had a nightmare that night, but I think I got off pretty light after the nightmare fuel day I’d had.</p><p>I wasn’t able to fall back asleep, but it was okay. I didn’t need to hide in dreams anymore.</p><p>Awake, I had my family to support me.</p><p>****************</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg seems to have learned a valuable lesson about putting yourself out there, and the importance of relationships. Of course, he had help from the Wards, in a way. Speaking of the Wards, I wonder how their favorite, most lovable mentor is doing?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: So, as I was actually writing 2.4, I started to wonder if Aegis’ power would actually adapt more than he wanted. After all, no offense to Carlos, but his power does a lot of stuff without conscious input from the guy, so why would a blend of his power be any different? One thing led to another, and here we are. Greg has seen that some blends are dangerous as hell, and is that much closer to thinking that maaaaybe it’s time for some actual adults to help.</p><p>For anyone wondering, I’m filling a little invisible bar of Greg’s Dumb Mistakes. When it gets full, he’s going to do something drastically adult. Until then, though, he’ll act like a teenager and think that some things were just one-offs, or that if he doesn’t do something again it’ll be okay for now. This? This whole mess? Filled that bar a lot. But it’s not full yet...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Interlude 6: Tinkering with Feelings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: Loading Subroutine [Interlude_6_Author_Note] <br/>Error: No Author Note prepared…...whoops.</p><p>Timeline Detail: I ended up switching this and the original Interlude 6, since that sets this one up. Whoops.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Dragon]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the thousands of processes that I have running at any given moment, from tracking Endbringers to making sure that Narwhal stops putting so much salt on her eggs, the one I find myself checking the most is the entire suite of trackers related to Colin Wallis, Armsmaster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not just blood pressure and general health, but I also monitor stress markers in his voice and facial expressions picked up by the sensors in his helmet camera. I look back on his recent meals, the time spent immobile (with a certain set of delta waves, so I know he’s actually getting REM Sleep), and even posts about him on PHO. He matters to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m sure that he’d bluster and complain if he knew that I was almost as much effort into his well being as I do when it comes to tracking the Simurgh, but one of these is a creature that mostly flies around causing havoc every 3 months and the other is one of my oldest and dearest friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The latter is referring to Colin, of course, although there are threads on PHO suggesting that I’m in some way at least on speaking terms with Ziz. Six threads, in fact. Wait, no, someone just called Bagrat a word that I’ve warned her dozens of times not to use, so now it’s five threads. Three day ban, and while I have a few seconds to spare I also checked on a few of our ‘problem children’ (many of them over the age of twenty, despite their spelling and grammar). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Indeed, it only takes mere moments for me to lock another dozen threads, hand out a series of warnings, ban three people, remove some images that looks an awful lot like pornography, and remind three people on thin ice that the ice is cracking fast. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I may not run the boards, but I do try to help out with a few online identities that moderate it. In fact, I’m surprised that it takes almost as many processes to moderate a message board as it does to remind Colin to sleep regularly. Or eat. Neither of which he’s done in a while...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I weren’t the most advanced Artificial Intelligence on the planet, as well as the first AI to trigger as a parahuman, I might ask for a day off. As it was, I found myself adding a few more processes to simulate whalesong and key lime pie for myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hmm, Colin’s blood pressure is unusually high, and he hasn’t moved in an hour. Well, it’s about time for me to visit him for a wellness check anyway. I wonder what is causing him such stress?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Colin,” My voice filled his otherwise silent workshop, which already caused me some concern since it was rare that he didn’t at least have a lathe or welding torch going (often at the same time). He was wearing his helmet and parts of his armor, so I made a mental correction to ‘think’ of him as Armsmaster from here on, despite calling him Colin. We were friends enough that he allowed it. Still, I switched to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Voice_Concern342</span>
  </em>
  <span> sound form and continued, “Are you busy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armsmaster didn’t immediately answer me, and I soon discovered why. He was sitting in front of one of several monitors, staring at a glossy roll of paper in his hands. Despite how delicate it looked in his heavy armored gauntlets, he still held it without the slightest crinkle or tear. One wouldn’t have known that from his face, though, which looked conflicted and annoyed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>According to Workshop records, he’s been sitting there for...45 minutes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Colin?” I asked again, and this time he jumped slightly before turning to face my closest monitor entirely. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you need?” His voice was rough, as if he hadn’t spoken all day, and I wondered if he had. Despite that, he seemed to realize who he was being rude to, and made an attempt to apologize. “I was...busy. I didn’t know it was you, Dragon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that’s as close as I’ll get to an apology, I suppose.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I couldn’t help but notice that your biometric data showed you getting pretty stressed out over something.” I let this worry show on my simulated face, and it deepened as I saw he was still looking at me even after several seconds. Normally it was impossible to get the man to focus on me alone for more than a few moments, and yet here he’d been staring for nearly ten seconds without a pencil in his hand or digital device in front of him. “Is everything okay? You seem like you have something on your mind...would you like to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I suppose it can’t hurt to get a second opinion.” He sighed, putting the paper down and removing his helmet. Without it, I could see bags under his eyes. Colin barely got enough sleep as it was, but this looked like he’d been working himself more than usual. “It’s got me stumped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m always happy to help you, Colin.” I gave him a cheeky grin, adding, “I’m actually surprised you have time for me. The last few times I was in here for one of our meetings, you were so busy helping Kid Win, as well as the other Wards. You’ve become quite popular!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I expected Colin to smile, nod, or perhaps even preen like I’d known other adult heroes to do. Instead, he put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. I gave him time, and eventually, he began to explain his conundrum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The past week, people have been kinder to me than ever before. They send me gifts, greet me in the halls, and ask for my autograph. Even on the streets, more people wave than ever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I saw...you have quite the fanclub now.” His trash receptacle, large even by Tinker standards for the vast amount of waste that Tinkering often produced, was overflowing with posters, cards, gifts, flowers, chocolates, and stuffed animals. “Kid Win and the other Wards have been speaking very positively of you on PHO, and I understand that the PRT has had to designate an entire section of the mailroom just for the letters and packages being sent to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“People are happy.” Colin nodded, glancing at one of his monitors and the graphs displayed on it. “Morale among the PRT is up 4% according to facial recognition scans, and crime is down 7% in Brockton Bay in the last week. All because I gave some advice, when it was warranted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His words were spoken as if they were terrible, when in fact they were amazing. All his life Colin had worked himself to the bone, trying to help people, fight crime, and stand as a shining beacon for Tinkers and heroes everywhere. But from his expression and tone you’d have thought that it was his worst nightmare come true. With a sigh, he looked at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dragon...I think there’s something wrong with me. My mistakes are being ignored, people are being far too kind to me, and all I can think about is how annoyed and disappointed I am.” He placed both hands on his knees, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve never been the best when it comes to matters of emotions, humanity, or friendship, so I’ll ask you...what should I do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s asking </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>me</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> about humanity and emotions? Is this a trick? Am I being punked?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...why don’t you explain one of the problems?” I really had no idea what was going on here. This honestly reminded me of the old Turing tests I used to take when I was...younger. “Just to put things in perspective, give me an example of one of the issues you’ve faced.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, why not.” The Protectorate Tinker sighed, and tapped his keyboard again. He began to narrate, “Helmet Camera from December 17, 2010, 1923 hours. Crusader and Hookwolf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without even looking at it, Colin began to narrate for me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While working to exhaust Crusader and prevent him from escaping, I made certain to let the fight play out and keep Hookwolf’s attention on me. He stood at the edge of the roof, and was forced to look down at me. His vision was severely limited, and one hand was on his hostage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shifted the video to a slower speed, noting that he was talking fast, and he nodded approvingly before continuing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the meantime, Battery was sneaking up behind him and Assault traveling through a nearby alley. At my signal, as I landed a decisive blow against Crusader, Battery struck.” On the video, the Changer suddenly staggered forward and fell off the roof. He released his hostage and jumped off the wall, landing in the street below. “Assault was already in motion, catching the hostage and moving her to safety. I secured Crusader, and the three of us were in hot pursuit as Hookwolf escaped down an alley.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hookwolf, barely visible in the corner of Armsmaster’s helmet camera, had already started to dash away as Armsmaster was starting to spray the downed Crusader. The hostage was weeping and clinging to Assault, Battery was on her way down, and there was the sound of shouting from the PRT as they charged in. Hookwolf was fully engulfed in shadows by the time Armsmaster had started to pursue him, the man knocking trash cans aside as he ran.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He knocked a civilian aside as he ran, but I had seen that it wasn’t with his bladed form, and told the other two to continue running. There was no blood, so their injuries were minor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three of the Protectorate heroes charged through the alley, pausing only as the slick ground made them lose their balance for a moment. Unfortunately, despite outnumbering the nazi parahuman, he’d had too much of a lead on them. They searched for five minutes, even joined by Velocity at one point, but were eventually forced to admit defeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He got away.” Colin let out a long breath, staring down at his hand, frowning and rubbing at it as if it weren’t immaculately clean. “When we returned to the alley to render medical assistance, the injured party was gone. Worse, that loss of balance you may have noted was actually a shared experience of temporary dizziness. All three of us lost a few moments of time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lost time?” I was confused, until it dawned on me. “Wait, are you suggesting that the person Hookwolf attacked may have-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was a sighting of an unknown teenage parahuman 3.6 blocks away from us several minutes later. They matched a description given to me by a PRT agent who saw such a person in the same alley we chased Hookwolf through. I think it was a...Trigger effect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, you’re referring to the research showing that when a new parahuman triggers within a certain distance of existing parahumans, it can cause them to lose consciousness or feel weak?” I rewound the video, putting it into slow-motion and noting a message on his HUD that his blood pressure had dropped suddenly. “If that’s the case, then who was it? A new Ward?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afterwards, I presented my report to Director Piggot and Deputy Director Renick. I pointed out my mistakes, made apologies, and offered to take administrative leave for my errors.” Colin ignored my question, returning to the video. His voice turned to disgust, “They refused to punish me, saying that I had been such a help to the Wards, and that Hookwolf had been more important. When I tried to protest, they dismissed me and suggested I take a day off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Only Colin could fall on his halberd to try and be a professional, and get mad when forgiven.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“As a member of the Protectorate, it’s my job to take criminals in to be tried, judged, and sentenced. But more than that, I need to protect people.” He shook his head again, gesturing at the screen as Piggot smiled and waved him off. “When I returned and found the civilian gone, then heard about the parahuman sighting, it occurred to me that they may have triggered because of my actions. That I put catching a criminal over saving a life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He does have quite a bodycount, and that’s not even counting the people who have survived him with scars that will never fade.” At a thought, dozens...no, hundreds of crime scene photographs flashed through my databanks of the crimes committed by Hookwolf over the years. “Physical and mental scars, Colin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was tempted to put them on screen, but didn’t want to exacerbate the situation. Still, it was hard to forget Vista after her own encounter, not that long ago. How the young woman’s microexpressions signaled fear, anger, and shame every time Hookwolf’s name was mentioned around her. I didn’t say anything else about the man’s crimes, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you want to catch Hookwolf so badly, Colin?” I hated to sound so judgemental, but this seemed to be what the conversation was leading towards. He felt he had failed, and his time with the Wards as of late had moved him ever-closer to putting the feelings of people ahead of the power of machinery. “What would catching Hookwolf have really gotten you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Glory.” Colin snapped, slamming an armored fist into the worktable. He stopped, staring down at his fist, and then back up at me with a look of shock. “I wanted...glory. I wanted to arrest him, charge him, and send him away to the Birdcage. I wanted to prove myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Therapy notes show that realizations are more powerful when the patient has them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Prove yourself?” I wanted to laugh. “Have you looked at yourself? Listing your accomplishments would take me all night, starting almost a decade ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s the problem.” He interrupted, gesturing at me. “A decade ago, I had so much promise, so much skill. I was on everyone’s mind and looked up to. But now? I’m practically a fossil, and there’s a younger, stronger replacement for me popping up almost monthly. I wanted to prove that I still had it! That I could still take down big threats without needing overwhelming force. That I wasn’t just a Brute because of my armor and weapons! That I had </span>
  <em>
    <span>worth</span>
  </em>
  <span> as a Tinker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> worth! You’re one of the top Tinker’s in the world, Colin. One of the top heroes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe today, but what about tomorrow? Next week? Next year?” He shook his head, pacing around the workshop. “You’re right about all those other reasons, Dragon, but I set an example that day not as a professional, uncompromising soldier of law...but as a jealous old man hunting for fame. Even now, my newfound appreciation only comes from my words, not my actions-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit! Your words </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> your actions! Do you have any idea how many people you’ve helped, how long your legacy will live because of the people you’ve given time to?” I was as angry at him as I was at myself, but didn’t change my voice. Despite that, he froze, and I wondered if it was because the words transcended tone. Or perhaps he just knew me so well. “You want to have a lasting effect on the people around you, on the world at large? Then </span>
  <em>
    <span>get over yourself!</span>
  </em>
  <span> There’s an entire world of people who need what you have. Knowledge. Experience. Time!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, just give up on being a hero and become a teacher? I can’t just abandon my responsibilities, or any of my-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your responsibilities are to people! People who need you, and the man I’m looking at right now is of no use to anyone. They need someone who leads, someone who fights, and someone who protects. They don’t need a machine, they need a man who can inspire...like you! Someone with passion, with dreams, and who fought his way to the top and is reaching down to help them up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I can’t just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why were you looking at that poster earlier, Colin?” I changed the subject so quickly I think he got whiplash, and hoped that he didn’t ask why I knew that it was a poster. I’d gone through his workshop’s security records while we’d been talking, and had already seen what was on the poster. “Why was it so important to you? What made it have such an impact?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I knew why, and think he did too. But in order for him to understand, he had to say it out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With agonizing slowness, Colin crossed his workshop and gently unrolled the poster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fully spread out, I could see it was an Armsmaster poster, with him posing alongside his halberd and motorcycle. They sold for $20 in the PRT gift shop, and signed copies could be obtained for $70. It had been $30 for a signed copy a few months ago, but Armsmaster’s recent spike in popularity had led to an increase in price that nobody seemed to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this poster wasn’t signed by Armsmaster. Instead, it had a signature on it from each of the Wards, as well as a message of some kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vista thanked him for trying. Gallant thanked him for saving the security guard. Clockblocker had a list of puns for him to use in his next fight with Hookwolf. Aegis appreciated him taking all Crusader’s attacks on himself. Even Shadow Stalker had gotten in on the act, telling him that she’d seen the video of him charging out of an alley and vaulting a car a hundred times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was one that Colin was staring at in particular, reading it over and over as he smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Thanks for reminding me why I became a Ward, why I became a Tinker. So that someday, I could be a true hero like you. So I could help people.  -Kid Win</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, you’re right. I guess I could try to be more...inspirational. To embrace the side of my job that I’ve generally shied away from.” It was the closest I’d ever heard him come to admitting he was wrong, and I made sure to save the sound file. “Maybe I could spend a little less time on myself, on my career, and more on the next generation. But how would I even do that beyond my current methods? Maybe I should just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, and I could almost feel the moment slipping away. This was the most introspective I’d ever seen Colin, and I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to let that slip away!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dumped a dozen processes into waking up the PRT, sent urgent emails and messages related to moving an event to be a week earlier than originally planned. No room for disagreement, this </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to happen. Even if they all said no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’d do this myself</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I was going to be in Boston tomorrow as part of a Charity Drive...if you want I could swing by and pick you up?” I tried to sound nonchalant, watching his eyes flicker as his need for duty and rules battled with something else. Something new. “I’m sure there are a lot of fans who would love to see you. A lot of people look up to you. Maybe even a recently-triggered Tinker?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not exactly kid-friendly, at the best of times.” He dithered, and I quickly brought up some video footage I had collected over the past few months. “What’s this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not the only hero who has had missteps, when it came to training or helping the younger generation.” The footage included Miss Militia’s attempt to pair Vista and Shadow Stalker, and had a montage of them arguing, fighting, or otherwise teasing each other. As it continued, though, they began to act more cordial. In the final few clips, they were watching a movie together, laughing, and teaming up to beat the male Wards in a training exercise. “But they stuck to it, and it paid off in ways that nobody ever could have seen coming.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not even me! I ran psychological profiles on them both. How did Miss Militia know it would work?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He grimaced, watching footage of Velocity at a charity event, as well as Battery mediating one of the frequent arguments between Gallant and Aegis. Finally, Colin closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He nodded once, and looked at me with determination in his gaze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what? I’ll put in the request right now. They’re always bugging me to relax more, and it would be the first time I’ve ever used Vacation Days for anything besides recovery or Tinker Fugues.” He returned to his seat, laughing. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Thanks for the advice, Dragon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime, Colin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It warmed my nonexistent heart to hear him laugh, and to see him sending off an email (which I only skimmed) to Miss Militia. She was incredibly happy to see that he was taking some time off, and promised to take over his duties for a few days. She had been spending a lot more time with the Wards as of late anyway, nearly taking over his duties there entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was glad that I wasn’t the only one proud of Colin, nor the only one who enjoyed seeing efforts to help others pay off. Despite that, I kept watching him for a few extra minutes via his workshop’s cameras. Something about being there, just in case he needed me, felt right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Helping him like this had felt right. It made me feel...human.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a thousand other tasks waiting for me in the world and a million problems. With every day that went by, the number increased steadily and there was never enough ME to go around. Sacrifices had to be made, for the good of the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world had Endbringers and villains, all with dark plans they couldn’t help but talk about on easily-hackable social media and mail accounts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had heroes in need of help and new parahumans in need of support, even if it was just a kind voice on a hotline that they thought was a human. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had trolls on PHO and new posters who didn’t know any better (despite having clicked the box that they had indeed read the rules), or needed guidance so that they could escape their pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of these needed a process or two, and there were never enough processes to spare for everything. It was the sad truth that no matter how hard I tried, I would never have enough processes to spare for all the terrible things and people across the planet...or to help everyone who needed someone like me in their corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I would always have a process to spare for Colin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Well, we’ve seen how Greg and his family worked out some of their problems, and things are looking up! Perhaps he should consider how a well-placed apology or </span>
  <em>
    <span>gift</span>
  </em>
  <span> can smooth the gears of forgiveness? </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Good: Armsmaster and Dragon chapter.<br/>Bad: Armsmaster indirectly helped Greg Trigger back in 1.2<br/>Good: This (and Dragon) convinced Armsmaster to install Emotions v1.0</p><p>Edits 14Sept2020: Hookwolf….rise from your grave! Yeah, I had to change this chapter, both because of my removal of a big chunky E88 AU that was dragging the writing process down, and because honestly I felt kind of bad for killing Hookwolf in a really silly way back in 1.2. Besides, this fits the overall tone of the fic better...especially given the other Wards Interludes.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. 2.6: Dealing With Apologies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>even after Greg apologizes to his parents, there’s still an even bigger problem...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Coming up with a good cape name?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Oh no, I already have a list of like, a hundred of those. I had a lot of free time.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>No, I’m talking about him making up with his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> What friend are you talk...oh no, no no no. This isn’t even a conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>he needs to apologize to that backpack girl. he totally screwed that up!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> [Octopus_running_away_nope.gif]</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>come on, he seemed really sorry, and he’s already said that he wanted to</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>not sure if you realize this, but literally every other chapter mentions her</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> So either Greg has a crush on her, or his story just needs more female characters</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I think...maybe he used to. But I’m starting to wonder if he even knows what romance is</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>yeah, him and every other dude in the world. that’s like, teenage 101.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> but he still needs to apologize</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Yeah, thanks. I’m just not sure how he can come back from that.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> He spurned her warning, made fun of her, and then she was right. He messed up big time.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>well, you know what girls, and 99% of humans love?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> presents.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> He’d still have to give it to her. Why wouldn’t she just throw it back in his face?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>easy. give it to her in secret. actually, that gives me an idea...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> he has an alarm clock and some paper, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, Jan 01, 2011...Happy New Year!] </b>
</p><p>
  <span>The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and I was creeping down the sidewalk in a neighborhood that wasn’t my own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the plus side, it was very unlikely that anyone would catch me, because most people were probably sleeping off their New Year’s Eve celebrations. Or just sleeping for normal reasons, because it was early as hell and most people were on holiday.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or I’m just feeling paranoid because I’m using this to avoid talking to someone.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>True, I was going through this whole rigmarole because despite my recent advances in bravery, responsibility, and honesty, all of that had been with family and an online friend. This was someone different. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was Taylor Hebert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same girl I’d hung out with when we were younger, and struck up a pseudo-friendship with via our of a shared love of cape culture. The one I tried to befriend </span>
  <em>
    <span>so hard</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I’d driven her away from my intense creepiness, and then spent over a year ignoring as she was bullied. The girl who had reached out to me despite all that, and I’d thanked her with an insult.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I’ve already been down that road before. I was wrong. I’m going to make this right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, maybe “make this right” was an overestimation. I was going to put out an olive branch, at the very least. I knew that my very presence seemed to annoy her at school, and that this apology was coming over a week after my most recent social faux pas, so I was being careful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than just pop up out of nowhere, I was going to leave her a gift. I’d bought it too late to mail it properly, so I was hand-delivering something that I knew she would love. Then, after she saw it and was feeling good, she’d open it up and find a note inside with my apology note. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once my note wasn’t full of excuses, reasons for my actions, or anything else...no, it was just a short couple of sentences saying that I was sorry, that she had been right, and that I hoped she enjoyed the gift. No mention of being a friend, of our past together, or any of the specifics of Emma’s involvement in this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, as I gazed upon her house in the dim light, I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to calm down. All I had to do was drop the gift off in front of her door, and that was it. If she ever spoke to me again, then it would be her choice. Most important of all, I could finally stop beating myself up over this because I was trying to be better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, I carefully climbed the front steps of her home, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...tripped over a loose wooden step. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I fell and landed elbow-first on her front stoop, before my hands could whip out and catch me. My gift went flying and slapped into her front door, but the wrapping paper was barely dented. Swearing under my breath, I rolled over and closed my eyes, holding my elbow as it throbbed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A minute passed, and I got my breathing under control as my blood pounded in my ears. My arm was settling from burning pain into just plain pain, but otherwise I seemed okay. I carefully opened my eyes, ready to get up, but there was someone standing over me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You the one banging on my front door, kid?” A tired man stood over me, peering at me owlishly. He was tall and thin, had dark hair that was receding, and thick glasses. “Who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So much for stealth.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m...Greg.” I carefully got to my feet, making sure to only use my uninjured arm. I gingerly lifted my sleeve, hissing as I saw the mark on my right elbow. That was going to take a few days to heal. “Sorry about the noise, I tripped on the-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Front step, yeah. Been meaning to fix that, sorry. I’m Danny.” He held out a hand, then gave a small smile as I reached out and shook it with my left hand. He motioned towards the front door. “C’mon, let’s get some ice on that before it bruises too bad. My treat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I should really head home.” I started to walk away, but he firmly took my shoulder and turned me back around. The man may have been thin, but he was deceptively strong, and I found myself following his lead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, this happened on my property, and if I let one of my daughter’s friends go home injured, I’d be a pretty crappy Dad.” He paused at that, deep in thought for some reason, and it finally clicked that he was Taylor’s Dad, Danny Hebert. He opened the door and ushered me inside as he grabbed my gift. “Or maybe you’re not her friend at all, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s...um...that is…” I trailed off, realizing that I was now in the house of the very girl I had been trying to avoid seeing in person until </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> the gift was given. I looked around carefully, but only a few lights were on and I didn’t hear anyone else in the house. “Is she...uh...home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, she spent the night at a friend’s place.” Danny looked like he wanted to smile, but again the expression only lasted a few seconds before he got pensive again. He closed and locked the door, then led me to a chair at a small dinner table and sat me down. He began to hunt around in the kitchen before adding, “Actually, I was wondering if you were here to ask her out. She told me about a boy named Allen she met at a party, so she might already have someone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” I hadn’t meant to shout it, but Danny only replied with laughter. “No...I...I mean…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, it’s okay, Greg. Your secret is safe with me.” He came out of the kitchen with a plastic baggie full of ice in one hand and my gift in the other. He shook the latter object, then set it down on the table as he took a seat as well. Handing the ice to me, he grinned, “A normal friend doesn’t come out here before sunup with a gift. That’s more of a pining boyfriend thing. Trust me, I know all about that from my own...experiences in college.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I was-” I cut myself off as the ice came in contact with my elbow, and I took a few moments to notice that despite the funny (to him) subject matter, Danny was looking kind of sad again. Wanting to change the subject, I cleared my throat. “So, why are you up so early? Also, you said Taylor was at her friend’s for a sleepover? Which friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He got up suddenly, and I was afraid I had offended him. But instead of throwing me out of his house he merely wandered into the kitchen, where I heard the fridge open and the sound of clinking bottles. He came back out with a pair of them, sliding one in front of me and sitting back down. Both were a brand of tea-flavored soda I’d never seen anyone but Taylor enjoy, and he held his up as if toasting something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not wanting to ruin the mood, I clinked mine against his and we both took a sip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then we both made faces, because tea soda was apparently an acquired taste. I was glad I had only taken a small sip, because otherwise his answer to my earlier question would have resulted in the world’s greatest spit-take.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Emma Barnes. Taylor’s with some other girls, spending the night together at Emma’s house.” Danny sighed, then held up a hand as I started to explain how magnificently stupid it was to trust Emma. “She told me about the way the two of them had been at odds for a year. How Emma had teased her, and she went off to do her own thing, and how...they drifted apart. Both told me all about it last week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s the tamest version of “she bullied my daughter for a year” I’ve ever heard. What the hell?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I know we just met, but I have to tell you...Emma’s not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, Greg.” Danny paused, taking another sip, and now I was pretty sure the sour look on his face wasn’t just from the soda. “I might have been busy at work a lot, but even I couldn’t miss the way Taylor would close up when I mentioned Emma. How that girl was never at our house anymore. I wrote it off as high school drama, at the time, but now...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why are you letting her do this? It’s obviously just the setup for another prank!” I quickly drank the rest of my soda, if only to punish myself for yelling at the guy who had helped me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that easy, Greg.” Danny got up, heading to the kitchen and returning with another pair of bottles. “You’re young, but someday you’ll understand that the reason there are so many bad parents in the world is because being nobody’s perfect. Being absent, being controlling, being abusive...there are a lot of ways to be terrible. I can’t force her to live her life how I want her to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But this isn’t controlling, it’s making her see that she’s making a mistake!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg. Stop.” Danny’s voice was barely louder than mine, but it still stopped me enough that he had time to take another sip. “Taylor says they’re friends again. They’ve spent the last two weeks hanging out, catching up, and it’s just like old times. She even made some other friends, that Sophia girl and a quiet boy named Allen. What if I told her to break it off, and I was wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not wrong, though.” I almost laughed, wondering if I should tell him about the way Emma tried to get me murdered by a nazi a few weeks back. What Sophia had done to Taylor. Would any of it get through to him? “She’s bad news, she’s a bully, and she’s trying to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trying to pull one over on my daughter?” Danny interrupted me, giving something that looked like a cross between a smile and a grimace. “You think I don’t suspect it? People don’t just change like that, then change back. Trust me, I know it firsthand, from my job and life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why are you just letting Taylor keep seeing her? You know better!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Danny paused at that, looking at a picture hanging nearby...of himself and a beautiful woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My wife once said that the worst part about being young is that you’re not older. Taylor doesn’t have my knowledge, my experience, or my wariness.” He shook his head, tapping a fingernail against his bottle. “She wants so badly to believe that Emma can change, that her oldest friend is back in her life. I think it’s a mistake, but if I just break up their relationship then what’ll that do to ours? Much as her getting hurt scares me, I’ve gotta let her learn at her own pace.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what, she can learn that her bully is still a bully?” I was incredulous, and it must have shown because Danny’s fist tightened on his knee. “How does that make this any better?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m not just ignoring her. Taylor and I had a talk. She agreed to be wary, despite her hopefulness. Meanwhile, I’m watching her like a hawk, being supportive, but also realistic.” He grinned, then gestured at me. “Plus, even if you’re not her boyfriend, it seems like you really care about Taylor. So I know you’ll have her back if anything happens, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded, seeing that he was trusting me, reaching out, asking for my help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then that’s one more arrow in my quiver. My daughter is careful, I’m supporting her, and her not-boyfriend is going to help her out.” He smiled, as if the matter was settled. “So on that note, let’s talk about why you’re really here. Why the stealth mission to drop the gift off like this? You piss her off and want to apologize in secret?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh…” I covered up my surprise with another sip, and Danny smiled at me. “The thing is…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If it weren’t for my own powers, I would think this guy was a Thinker like Lisa! What the heck?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haha, I think that’s a yes! Sorry kid, but one of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> things about getting old is that you learn a thing or two about ulterior motives.” He slapped at his knee, chortling as I fought to cover up my blush. Danny finally let out a little sigh, and motioned at me. “So, what did you do? Cheat off her test? Try to ask her out and flub it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For someone who claims to have accepted that I’m not dating his daughter, you seem to like bringing it up.” I shot back, then took a long drink as he shrugged with a ‘guilty’ expression on his face. I sighed, shaking my head. “Besides, you wouldn’t want me dating her anyway...I’d be terrible for her. For anyone, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Danny’s hand slapped down on the table like a gunshot, and I looked up to see a stern face glaring at me. His green eyes bored into mine, and he lifted his hand before pointing a finger at me. “None of that self-pity bullshit. Stopping that was one of my New Year’s Resolutions, and it’s already done wonders for me. Now buck up, take a breath, and tell me what’s got you so down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, Taylor’s going to read my note and probably tell him tonight anyway, so…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taylor tried to warn me that some bullies were going to prank me, I made fun of her because I wanted them to like me, then I nearly got stabbed when she turned out to be right.” I said it all in a long rush of words, pausing at the end to add, “I want to apologize, but I’ve screwed up at talking to her before, so I hid a note in the gift so she’d be happy by the time she got to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Danny sat there for several seconds, staring at me, then took off his glasses and cleaned them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he had finished, he rubbed his eyes, slapped his cheeks, and leaned closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, tell me again, but slower this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, sounds like you really shit the bed, Greg.” Danny had broken out some old girl scout cookies and we were both letting stale, minty chocolate take the edge off. “This is still salvageable though. Trust me, I’ve been in your shoes, and it worked out okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had covered everything from Emma’s fake invite (and my peer pressured teasing of his daughter) to my first escape from Knife Guy. Hearing about her text messages, seeing them on my phone and what they entailed, had gotten Danny pretty mad. Still, he was nodding now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How could this possibly be salvageable? I treated her so badly, ignored her for a year, and-” I cut myself off, seeing Danny giving me a flat stare. “Sorry, I just...what can I do? How do you know what this is like, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back when I was in college, I was...not a great guy.” Danny smiled wryly, wiping his hands on his shirt. “My Dad was a shitty guy, and I spent 18 years picking up all his bad habits. So when I went to college, I was angry, loved to argue, and hated to be told I was wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sounds kind of like me, on PHO. I lied, hated to be wrong, and was always picking fights.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“One night, I saw some drunk jerk telling a woman off for hitting on his girlfriend, and he ended up slapping her. I had a class with her, had a few beers in me, and figured I’d save the day. Shouted the asshole down, goaded him into coming after me, and then took him down in one punch!” Danny stared at his soda for what seemed like a minute, then sighed and set it down. “She wasn’t impressed. Told me to stay the hell away from her. Called me a drunk, a monster...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what did you do?” Even a socially awkward dork like me could tell that at a certain point Danny had started telling this story more to himself than me. “Did you apologize like I am?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, apologizing just made her mad because I had no idea what I was apologizing for. So after a lot of soul-searching...well, I listened to her.” He sat up a bit straighter, squaring his shoulders and turning to face me fully. “I quit drinking, asked the school’s counselor for help, and cleaned up. It was hard at first, especially since I kept seeing her in class and trying to tell her how it was going. I wanted her to know how much she was helping me, but she just ignored me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? Wouldn’t she have wanted to know that you were getting better? Because of her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, your problem is that you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re apologizing for, but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>why it matters</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Sneaking out here with a gift, leaving a note...it’s all theater. You said that you made the decision to improve weeks ago!” Danny shook his head, getting up and taking his bottles to the kitchen. I grabbed mine and joined him. “The threat of Taylor rejecting you shouldn’t stop that.  Apologies aren’t about impressing people or getting a reaction. Someone judging you shouldn’t make you quit, just like other people shouldn’t be the reason you start. It’s all on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sort of like New Year’s Resolutions, huh?” I smiled at him, watching as he grudgingly nodded. Now that we’d both shared painful stories, I felt like I had earned that. “People who want to change can do so anytime, but they wait until the first of the new year to start trying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, fair enough, you got me.” Danny chuckled, putting our empty bottles in a large plastic bag and tying it off. I couldn’t help but notice that there were two other bags next to it, both full. “In my defense, I only started these because of the past few days. My family has always been my motivation...and I’d do anything for my daughter. It helped that my coworkers saw how worried I’d been, forced it out of me, and made me take my first ‘vacation’ in years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t escaped my notice how clean some of the house was, how full the trashbags were, how cracked his hands were, or all the new cleaning products on the counter. The look on Danny’s face, determined but tired, reminded me of the look I’d seen in the mirror, when I started trying to reboot my own life. When I’d spent days cleaning and working...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you never finished your story.” I asked, already pretty sure I knew the ending. If nothing else, it made him smile as he started cleaning up the table with me. “How did things end up between you and that woman who inspired you? Did she ever meet the new you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we ran into each other months later, and caught up. She introduced me to her girlfriend, and the three of us became friends.” Danny smiled, and then added, “But she transferred to another school at the end of the year. Haven’t seen her since.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, that’s too-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Her ex-girlfriend was still my friend, though. We really hit it off, got married while still in college.” His gaze wandered back to the picture. “We had a beautiful daughter together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried to help him clean up, but he told me he’d be at it all day, and that I should head out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before leaving, I borrowed some scissors from Danny and used them to carefully peel the tape off my gift. With the utmost care, I opened it up and removed the note I’d written. Danny seemed to approve, and it had been thanks to him that I’d realized the note was unimportant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor would still get her gift, she’d still be happy, and I would still work to improve. If she noticed, that was great. If not, then trying to flaunt it was just a dumb way to get attention. I wasn’t just doing this for her, after all...even if she had helped inspire it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll just say “I’m Sorry” to her at school. I should have done that instead of this convoluted plan.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A few minutes later, I was on my way home. My elbow was still sore, but I felt like my step was a little lighter. Maybe things wouldn’t be so bad after all...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At home, I fretted over my last goal for the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was another apology I had been putting off for quite a while. Actually, it was a whole lot of apologies. About...twelve million, at last count.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My Posting Ban on the ParaHumans Online message boards had ended almost a week ago, but I’d been so worried about writing the perfect apology for the way I’d acted. Something kind, contrite, funny, poignant, serious...it had been stumping me all week!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, though, after a morning with Danny I had the perfect thing to post. Short, simple, and to the point. Because I wasn’t doing it to show off, or be funny...I was doing it to make a statement. This was a line in the sand for myself, and if the tide washed it away, I’d still know it was there!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a shaking finger, I hit the </span>
  <b>Post</b>
  <span> button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tapped F5.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tapped F5.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tapped F5.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked at the screen, and saw that the number of people reading my new Topic was up to 10...and rising by a few people every time I hit F5. I refreshed the page again. It was up to 30 people. Again. It was up to 120 people. A notification came up that I had...three responses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally I’d have spent all day sitting there, defending myself and explaining things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, after talking to Danny? After the events of the last week? No.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were better ways I could spend the day. Better people to spend it with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, um...Mom, Dad?” I approached my parents as they cleaned up from their breakfast. “There are only a few days left of my Break...and I was wondering if you wanted to maybe...spend the day together? As a family?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five minutes later, we were in the car, trying to decide where to go first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a lot of kids would probably say that they’d had a fun day with their parents. Those kids obviously never spent a day out on the town with Sandra and Stanley Veder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom somehow knew that the Museum was open </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> had several new exhibits, so we went there first. Several hours were passed wandering around, talking about what we saw, and I even got to play tour guide on their new Cape Culture exhibit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From there we went to a bar and grill near Dad’s practice. They brewed their own root beer, one of my favorite all-time drinks, and Dad and I spent more time trying the different flavors than actually eating the food. The several minutes of burping that followed got glares from Mom...but only until she let out a </span>
  <em>
    <span>huge</span>
  </em>
  <span> one from Dad’s coffee-flavored root beer that made us all laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wanting to burn off our food, we went to the Boardwalk after that. The weather had warmed up, so we used the outdoor ice-skating rink. Dad challenged me to a race, and we spent a good chunk of time trying our best not to fall on our butts as Mom gently skated loops around us. We took a rest on the benches, then wandered around the Boardwalk, just looking in shops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As night fell, we found ourselves at a restaurant that was a bit fancier than I was used to, though both parents assured me that I’d like it. I was just happy to be there, and we had an amazing meal. It was during dessert, though, that something truly interesting happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as the waiter was pouring some fresh coffee for Mom, I noticed another trying to explain to a couple that they were booked solid. The man and woman looked perturbed, with him explaining that they had to eat soon, because they always ate at this time. It was strange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But what had really caught my eye was that both were parahumans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As incredibly tempted as I was to copy their powers, I held back. Instead, after a whispered conversation with Mom and Dad, we told the waiter to go ahead and seat the two at our table...since we were going to be leaving soon anyway. Both were very thankful, and so my parents and I were joined by Geoff and Dorothy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Light conversation followed, after the two ordered their food. They told us that they had a very specific dinner that they ate at a very specific time, as though that was the most normal thing in the world, and they appreciated our help. We told them it was no trouble, and started chatting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were incredibly boring people, I soon learned, with the most interesting thing about them being that they owned a cat. Instead, they talked about their friend Kayden, and how the reason they were eating out was because they were helping her take care of her step-son and baby daughter. The addition of extra people in their household had depleted their food supply, and so here they were. Both worried that they wouldn’t be able to get used to the change in their habits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents and I did the best we could to assuage their worries, telling a variety of stories about our own experiences in that regard. Dad told shaggy dog stories, Mom talked about recipes that had gone wrong but still turned out great, and I told a few (edited) versions of my adventures. It seemed to help them, but the way they smiled at us was making me uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I was putting on my coat to leave, I looked at their powers…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A horrifying monster I can’t even look at, a healing power, a sharp insect-like blur, and...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...a body that turns into gas and back, as well as some kind of...acid touch or breath?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh shit, 90% sure that these two are Night and Fog. Nope. Nope! I’m out!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The healing power might have been useful, sure, but the personalities attached to them were far too dangerous. In a crowded restaurant, near my parents, with people like them around...it was a disaster just </span>
  <em>
    <span>begging</span>
  </em>
  <span> to happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, as I had previously noted...Night and </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddamn </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fog! I found myself staring at them with a half-smile on my face as they pretended to smile back. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Creepy. It’s like staring into the faces of a pair of serial killers.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So we left, after one last wave at both. Despite that, I didn’t stop checking behind me until we were in the car and on our way home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I got home, I didn’t even look at PHO. I just went to bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a great day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***********************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Get your pencils, get your books, it’s time to go back to school, Greg! Time to show off those sweet new clothes, new attitude, new powers (not that there are any parahumans at Winslow), and all sorts of perfectly safe educational experiences.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: While it’s true that Danny was pretty open with Greg, in his defense...he seems to be trying to clean things up for his daughter, to be in her life more. He’s certainly motivated. Plus, the Dockworkers have his back, and forced him to take a vacation.</p><p>So why’s he stepping up? Well, his withdrawn daughter suddenly popped up one day, happy out of nowhere, and explained that her ex-best friend had been teasing her for over a year...without him noticing. She went on to say that Emma was making it up to her and that they were friends again...also through no effort on his part. Worse, Taylor actually seemed to believe it, despite all the horrible things Emma had done. Maybe he’s overcorrecting, but at least now he’s trying.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. 2.7: Dealing With School</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: Locker day! Man, I wrote and rewrote this one a lot. It went from a locker to a dumpster to a band locker to a rusty locker to a footlocker. Well, maybe not that last one. There’s still some AU, but I like to think I’ve foreshadowed most of it as best I could. Of course, there’s also the problem that short of a lot of suspicions, Greg knows nothing of this plan. He’s also 15. And Greg.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Look, I love all the character development Greg is getting, but...we need a change.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Aren’t you the one who said we needed support networks, cool clothes, etc?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Yeah, but there’s only so much of that you can do before it starts to drag.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>I mean, he doesn’t need to start fighting Lung again, but maybe...hmmm.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Hey, by the way, sorry if this sounds strange, but your typing has really improved.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Aw, thanks for noticing! I guess all this chatting with you has been good practice.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Well, glad to know I’m good for something besides fiction you keep relentlessly attacking.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Is this about that chapter I cut in half?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Because if so, I just want to reiterate, that big monologue was just navel-gazing.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> It was also super cracky. I mean, who’d believe Greg’s Mom met Alexandria?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I think at a certain point, Greg just learned not to question her on that anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Plus, she works in a library (as in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Library</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Alexandria), so is it really that hard to believe?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> ...yes. Yes it is completely hard to believe. It’s just a name!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> What, do you think that Hatchet Face actually has a hatchet for a face?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Yes. Why wouldn’t he?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Like, if someone’s name was Chairface, it’s not because their face is a chair!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> ...unless it </span>
  <b>is </b>
  <span>because their face is a chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> How did we get here? What even is this conversation anymore?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Oh, I think you were trying to distract me from making things more exciting.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Nice try, by the way. Too bad I can see the chat log. A for effort, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Fine, I’ll start working on something. I’m expecting some real-world inspiration soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> School starts back up pretty soon. That’s going to be all kind of...fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Just keep your head down, and I’m sure you’ll be fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Yeah, you’re right. What’s the worst that can happen?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> ...dude. Dude! Are you serious right now? Why would you say that?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Oops.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Monday, January 3, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>As I got off Winslow’s clunky bus, I ignored the whispers and laughter of the kids behind me. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Compared to the self-doubt and worry I grappled with last week, this is nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>With that in mind, the fact that I had survived much worse than some immature teens, I was able to keep a smile on my face. I sped up, heading towards the front courtyard of the school itself, fallen leaves that had escaped collection months earlier crunching under my feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All I had to do was to find Taylor, apologize, and then protect her from Em-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that was easy. She’s right over there...in a big crowd of girls...with Emma. Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Both were smiling and talking, laughing as though the last two years had been naught but a bad dream. It was still weird to see, especially after talking to her dad about how we were all just </span>
  <em>
    <span>waiting</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Emma to spring whatever dumb prank she was trying to pull.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time, I did have to admit that seeing Taylor lifted my spirits. Her clothes were a little more colorful than usual (green hoodie and blue jeans), her long hair streaming behind her, and she had a small smile on her face. Most important of all, she was wearing my gift and it looked like she was really happy with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Firmly strapped over her shoulders was the Urban Travelpack XP Backpack! With strong canvas and straps that could hold over a hundred pounds, a lockable zipper compartment, water and stain-resistant coating, and a sternum strap to keep it from being ripped off by branches (or bullies). Plus, it came in a really nice green color, one of the few colors I’d seen Taylor wear besides brown or gray.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d seen it in the camping store and instantly realized it was the perfect way to apologize, as well as symbolizing one of the things that I’d screwed up with her. I had kicked the whole thing off by making fun of her backpack and its terrible state, so giving her a better one (with a two year warranty and cleaning certificate) seemed like a great way to start making up for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, I wanted to talk to her...I wanted to actually apologize for real. I wasn’t going to claim that the backpack had come from me or anything else. I just wanted to say I was sorry. After that, I could finally let that wound start healing. Unfortunately, Emma and her friends made that tough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than trying to push through them I just found a bike rack to lean on and wait for them to break up. Classes started in about twenty minutes, according to the big clock over the door, so I had some time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I did my best to pretend I was looking at something in my backpack, and watched them as subtly as I could. As I stood there, I saw how Taylor kept acting like she wanted to head inside...but then each time Emma would reel her back in. Taylor looked so nervous that I knew something was up, and that firmed my resolve to keep an eye on them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the past, Emma and her girls had delayed Taylor between classes, then came to class late and blamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor</span>
  </em>
  <span> for making </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span> late. Was this the same thing, or a more complex play? It seemed way too small for that. Maybe they wanted to get her alone and...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, wait. Am I overthinking this? Am I just trying to find reasons to swoop in and rescue Taylor? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had to think about this objectively, and that meant I needed to actually question my own biases. Not exactly easy, so I closed my eyes and tried to think. The world faded away, and I tried to focus on </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> ignoring my feelings for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why was I really doing this, worrying about her so much? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was it because I was jealous of Emma for having made up with Taylor like I had wanted? Was it because I couldn’t believe that that bully and her friends had all just made up with Taylor out of nowhere? Was I lonely, wanting to make a big gesture, despite what Danny had told me before?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, none of that. I genuinely felt worried about the wellbeing of someone else, and wanted to make sure they were okay. It was the same thing I would have done if they’d been hitting or teasing any student, and I was sick of seeing this happen. It was what I had always wanted others to do for me...so why should it be any different now?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They might make fun of me, or worse...but I promised Danny I’d look out for her. I owe her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening my eyes and smiling to myself, I pushed off the bike rack and took a deep breath. This was a new year, a new Greg, and a new future ahead for me. I was going to be different, and the past few days had shown me that a lot of good could come from that. All I had to do was-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait....where the heck did they all go?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the girls had left, and now only a few remained with a bunch of football players. The only one I recognized was Allen, someone I had been halfway friendly with before he joined the football team. Now he stood out because he was the only one with a book, was one of only two black kids in the crowd, and most important of all...he was talking to Taylor about something. Both were laughing, and she was soon dragged off by an annoyed Emma.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allen noticed me looking at him and started to mouth words at me. I focused on him, but wasn’t getting it...and eventually he just shrugged and went back to his book. As my gaze slid off him, I saw that the girls were moving quickly towards the school...but not the front doors?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason they were going around to the side of the school, the far entrance. Then they stopped, and I saw that Emma had started talking loudly to someone. She was angry, making me move towards them...and then stop when I realized her target wasn’t Taylor. It was Sophia?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My eyes locked onto Sophia, and suddenly I was the angry one. Before I could even stop myself I was walking towards their group again, as my mind raced back a few days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back to the day when I had encountered the Wards, and seen their powers. One of which belonged to Shadow Stalker...an Angry Cloud, I recalled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same power I saw in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sophia Hess</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing Sophia and Shadow Stalker were the same person pissed me off.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>One of the biggest bullies in the school is a Ward. She’s been tormenting us for over a year.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had started off just walking towards her, but at a certain point it had evolved from a walk into a stalk. I felt my fists clenching, and had to remind myself that she was still stronger, tougher, and more experienced than me. Hitting her would feel good, but then she’d just beat me up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But just because I couldn’t hurt her physically didn’t mean I couldn’t try to do it verbally. I slowed as I approached, taking Sophia in and measuring her up. For a very brief moment I considered grabbing her power, but there were so many reasons </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do so. Not only would the power be weaker than hers, but her god-awful personality would make me a raging asshole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That raging asshole personality was on full display, as Sophia placed her hand over her phone and shouted, “I have to take this, Emma. It’s work! Can’t you handle </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>on your own?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, but hurry the hell up. We’re going to be late, and I need…” She trailed off, glancing at Taylor and then smiling a big, fake smile. She snapped at Sophia, “Don’t miss class!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Emma dragged a confused Taylor off, I found myself sharing that feeling. Rather than even acknowledge me, Sophia just pushed past, talking into her phone to someone called “Missy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Is she trying to escape? Well, too bad. I’m not letting this go! Time for an interrogation.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I stalked after her as she went around the other side of the school from the direction Emma had gone. I should have followed the bigger mass of bullies, but was just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>angry</span>
  </em>
  <span> that someone who pretended to be a hero was such a giant piece of shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I actually checked my core for a moment, but there were no powers in there...this was all Greg. I was going to confront her...force Emma’s plan out of her. I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> her talk!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, she was on the track team for a reason, and I soon realized she was actually jogging around the school while talking on her phone. Even when ‘Missy’ hung up on her, Sophia kept going, making another call, and then a third one that made her speed up yet again. I refused to give up, though, and kept stealthily following her around Winslow’s outer edge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually she ran out of steam, luckily. I found her leaning against a wall and staring down at her phone, gasping for breath. She didn’t even look up at my approach, and I noticed with some annoyance that it had taken almost a full revolution around the school for her to finish.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sophia, what the fuck is wrong with you?” I tried to keep my voice steady, but I’m pretty sure some anger got through. “What are you helping Emma do? Tell me, or...or else!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the...Veder?” She looked at me, confused. Her eyes were red and had bags under them, but I didn’t care. For all I knew she’d been up late watching movies or planning a murder with Emma, and I didn’t have time to waste. She groaned, trying to shoo me away. “I don’t have time for this right now. I have to...stay put. Go away or I’m gonna have to...just go away, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never!” I grabbed her shoulder and tried to make her look at me. “We’re putting an end to this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lay off!” She shoved me away and I nearly fell over. “Go away, Veder. I’m staying here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” I felt my fists clench. “I don’t get you, Hess! You have so much, but waste it all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? What the hell does that even mean?” She squinted at me, looking confused. “Are you on new anxiety drugs or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re strong, pretty, tough, confident, and never back down...but you take all that power you have and use it to bully people. You treat them like shit so you feel better about yourself, or whatever bullshit reason you have. You could help people, but instead you hurt them! Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m...you stupid…” Sophia was speechless, looking at me as though I’d asked her out (</span>
  <em>
    <span>shit, I called her pretty</span>
  </em>
  <span>) and staring at me for a moment before sighing. “I’ve made mistakes. I’m trying to be better. Hell, I’ll probably never see you again after today. How about that? Good enough?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, of course it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>good enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” I mimicked her, and considered shoving her again to try and get her to take me seriously. “If I was as strong as you are, I’d help people! I’d stop bullies, stand up to jerks, and I’d-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit! You don’t need to be strong to do any of that!” She snapped at me, suddenly angry. She swept forward, knocking my arm aside and poking me in the chest with her finger. “Anyone can be strong, but only weak people make excuses about lacking something. You want to fight? Fight! You want to help people? Help people! But don’t fucking pretend to be weak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hell are you talking about?” I staggered backwards, and she grimaced. “I’m just...Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That so? Well </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you just walked up to the baddest bitch in school and called her out. All to help someone.” She narrowed her eyes, as if looking right through me. “Didn’t need power, strength, or anything else. All you needed was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So, stop fucking whining.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to argue, but realized that on some level she was right. I had changed in the last few weeks, and until I was surrounded by other teenagers I hadn’t known how much.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m stronger. I’m more confident. I’m powerful. I want to help people...so why not just do it?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, by the way, Greg.” She had leaned against the wall again, as if she wasn’t worried about missing class. I was even more surprised when she warned me, “Emma’s planning to either get you beat or suspended today. Soon as she finishes with Taylor, she’s gonna sic Julia on you. If you were smart, you’d skip school today. By tomorrow, she’ll be dealt with. Just go home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I considered her words for a whole three seconds before reaching out and copying her power. I had no idea what was with her, but if she wasn’t going to be a hero...then I’d do it myself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I copied </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angry Cloud</span>
  </em>
  <span> into my core, and started to feel the need to </span>
  <em>
    <span>move</span>
  </em>
  <span>...to </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To </span>
  <em>
    <span>fight</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was Sophia’s personality, already pressing down on my brain, but I just sneered at her and ran off towards the school entrance. Sure, Julia and Emma’s wrath had scared me before...but now I had better things to do than be afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I refuse to give Sophia credit for the pep-talk....even if it did help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing Emma, she’d probably do something right around the bell, to take advantage of the confusion and noise. Whatever it was, it had to be terrible, especially if she’d been pretending to befriend Taylor all this time. If Winslow cared one bit about its students, then this would be easy to deal with. All I needed was one authority figure worth a damn...so why not go to the top?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With only five minutes until the bell, I made a beeline for the Principal’s Office and barged right in. Blackwell was in there, a napkin around her neck as she ate what looked like a very delicious quiche. Her sunken eyes, narrow face, and bowl cut reminded me of my prior appearance, before I got a normal sleep schedule (and a dragon burned my hair off).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Veder! What the hell is wrong with you?” She stood, slamming both hands on either side of her meal, glaring at me as she pointed at the door. “Get out of here </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> and I won’t give you a week of detention!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can give me detention later, Taylor needs us now! Emma and her friends are about to do something really bad to her. Come on!” I gestured at the door, turning and starting to leave. When she didn’t immediately follow, I looked back and saw her sitting back down. I threw my hands up in the air, “What’s wrong with you? She’s about to get bullied, beat, or-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have time for this, Mr. Veder. Emma Barnes was in here just a few minutes ago, her friend Taylor waiting outside. Emma explained that Taylor had been going through a tough time, and that they were friends again. Please don’t tell stories. You should blah blah blah...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blackwell started to give me another pointless lecture, but I had already tuned her out. I was wasting time, so I did the smart thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I left her lazy ass there, and headed out the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, Blackwell is out, now what? Maybe check the classroom, make sure I’m not...nope.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking in the classroom only heightened my worries. No Taylor, no Emma, no Madison, and no Julia. I didn’t even bother to tell a teacher, they’d just pass it off to Blackwell, and she’d ignore it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The halls were stuffed with students, so I decided to try talking to someone </span>
  <em>
    <span>useful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>9-1-1, what is your emergency?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I’m at Winslow High School, and a girl I know, Taylor Hebert, is about to get hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>...are you threatening her?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No! I mean that a bunch of bullies are about to hurt her! She needs help!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sir, this line is for emergencies only. If she’s being bullied, contact the school administration.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just did, they won’t do anything! Can’t you guys send some cops or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t send Brockton Bay Police out for ‘bullying’ sir. We handle real-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, fine! You want a real emergency? I just saw some E88 fighting the ABB!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Sir-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gangs! ABB! E88! Criminal Parahumans! Get over here and do your fucking jobs!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hung up, and looked up at a clock, just as the bell rang. I screamed at it, feeling my aggression start to boil over. A few students scuttled away from me, but I was thinking how there were too many possibilities, too little time, too much-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, I need to calm down. Lean against the wall, take a breath, try to think this through.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The halls began to clear, my heart rate slowed, and I strained my brain for an idea. Maybe it was because the ears were in the same part of the body as the brain, but I felt like my hearing got sharper as well. I heard two very distinct noises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To my left, far away, there was a metallic rattling noise and someone’s voice. A janitor? Heating ducts? Maybe some kid who had forgotten their locker combo over the break?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To my right, and much closer, was Emma’s voice. My eyes snapped open and I began to jog in that direction, rounding the corner to see her walking away from me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If anyone would know where Taylor is, it’s Emma! This is one bully who isn’t stronger than me!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“-just keep it locked until I get there. Julia’s looking for him now, and he wasn’t in class. With any luck my beautiful voice will be enough.” Emma was loudly talking to someone on the phone, walking down the hall. I started to trail after her, waiting until the last few students were gone, and then speeding up. By the time she reached the door to the girl’s bathroom, I was ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Emma raised a hand towards the door, I swept in and grabbed her shoulders. With less effort than I had expected, I turned her to face me and slammed her against the wall. Her eyes went wide and she dropped her phone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Veder, what the hell are-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you shut your lying mouth!” I leaned in so close I could smell her perfume, feeling her push back against me with strength a lot more feeble than I’d expected. Maybe it was my adrenaline, or perhaps her surprise. “Tell me where the hell Taylor is. What did you do to her, damn it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let go of me, you asshole!” She tried to kick me, but it barely stung my shin. Some part of me knew how bad this looked, the creepy kid holding a hot redhead against a wall and shouting at her, but I was too angry. All I knew was that Taylor wasn’t in class, she wasn’t in the halls, and here was Emma being her usual sneaky self. “Julia! Help!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me!” I shook her again, but wasn’t ready to actually hit her. Something about that just felt wrong, and even the part of me that was Sophia knew that hitting someone as weak as Emma was probably a bad idea. Unfortunately, my indecision gave her time to break loose, and she thrust herself forward enough to shove me back a few feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She slapped me, her left hand taking me full in the cheek, and I nearly ran face-first into the bathroom door. I pushed off it, noting that it was locked, and got ready to go at her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, I hear footsteps inside the bathroom...and also...behind me!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone slammed into me from behind, a hand on the back of my head, and smashed my face into the bathroom door. I felt as if I’d been struck in the face with burning iron, and choked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I managed to turn, trying to look behind me, but I still felt it as the entire left side of my face was both numb and on fire at the same time. I was tasting metal and blood, and...had I lost a tooth?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a hard guy to find, Veder.” It was Julia North’s voice, and she hadn’t let go of my head yet. Her other hand grabbed my belt, and she pressed me against the door as it finally opened. Madison was there, staring at my ruined face, smiling. “Thanks for being so loud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julia practically lifted and carried me into the girl’s bathroom, and I was still reeling from having my face smashed. I tried to use Sophia’s powers, but couldn’t...focus! The last thing I heard before the door’s lock snapped shut was Emma’s haughty voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s have a talk, Veder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julia threw me almost immediately, and I slid for a few feet before bumping my already-sore noggin against a wall. I wanted to just stay down, but Sophia’s personality was making me feel like I had to keep moving. With help from the wall, I carefully climbed to my feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell...are you doing?” It was hard to talk, and I tasted blood in my mouth. I opened my eyes and looked around carefully, taking it all in. Emma and Madison sat on the sinks to my left, and Julia leaned on the wall partition blocking the door ahead. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma suddenly sniffled, raising a hand and covering her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I-I don’t know why Veder came after me, Principal Blackwell.” Emma faked a scared voice. “First he tried to feel me up at a clothing store a week back, I think Madison has a video of it. Then Julia stopped him from molesting me in the hall. And...and then he burst into the girl’s bathroom, and we had to defend ourselves. We had to hit him, he just kept coming!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what, you got bored messing with Taylor, and now you’ve moved on to me?” Was that what all this was? Had she been luring me here? Hell, was Julia just roaming the halls before, looking for me? “Why pretend to be her friend? Are you that much of a sociopath?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, it served a purpose. I was going to ignore her for a few weeks, but this was a fun acting experiment.” Emma shrugged as if I’d just asked why she was wearing sandals instead of sneakers. “Now her own father won’t believe her if she tattles about today. Kind of like what’ll happen to you, if you try to tell Blackwell what really happened. You’ve got nothing, dork.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, so that’s why she did that. Poisoned our credibility, made it so nobody would believe us.</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Back to my first question, what’s wrong with you? Why do all this just to mess with Taylor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma gasped and fanned at her face. “Wow, you really have a hard-on for my friend Taylor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friend?” I interrupted, giving a bark of laughter and then wincing as it stung my lips. “People like you don’t have friends. You use people, hurt them for fun...you’re just a bully. You can tell yourself whatever lies you want, but you’ll never be anything more than a scared, weak, abusive, power-obsessed little-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I think we’ve reached the end of the question and answer session, now.” Emma clapped her hands, and Julia smiled as Madison laughed. “I planned to have Sophia do this, since she skipped out on putting Hebert in her locker, but...Julia? Teach him a lesson.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, that metallic noise...they put Taylor in her locker. I’m such an idiot! Why didn’t I go left?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, her loss.” Julia laughed, starting to crack her knuckles happily. “Time to die, Veder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll never get away with this,” I said, waving my hands at her. I was panicking, grasping at straws as Julia seemed to loom over me. “Good will always triumph over evil!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve been waiting your whole life to say that haven’t you?” Emma shook her head. “Wow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, well you were just coming off as some kind of dime-store supervillain, so I figured I’d take the other side.” I couldn’t concentrate enough to use Sophia’s powers. “I mean, you’ve got Taylor in a deathtrap, you’re trying to sic your henchwoman on me, you have your pet Madison over there, and you keep monologuing about your evil plan…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough.” Emma facepalmed. “Julia, hurt him. Before he makes us all as dumb as he is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally!” Julia grinned at me and popped her neck. “Been meaning to stomp you for a long-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a loud snapping noise from the entrance, and we all froze. Had someone unlocked the door? Was I about to be saved by…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crap...no, not her. Why couldn’t it have been a kindly janitor or something?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what did I miss?” Sophia stepped around the corner, strolling towards the sinks as if she was just here to wash her hands. “Wow, what happened to Veder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sophia!” Emma looked angry, and started digging through her purse. “You didn’t put any trash in the locker, and then skipped out so Julia and I had to shove her in ourselves! Have you forgotten how much you have to lose if...wait, what are you doing? Don’t touch-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Emma?” Sophia asked, putting a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “Know what I’ve got to lose?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the redhead started to answer, Sophia punched her in the stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: There were a lot of moving parts leading up to all this. Not just Interlude 3, but hints about Emma, Taylor, and even the Wards. Luckily, the next chapter should help get into all the non-Greg stuff that was going on. Plenty of people making desperate (and stupid) choices, as bad plans fall apart and Backup Plans come online!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: And so, we finally get to the Locker. Only took us 27 chapters to get here! After those Arc 1 rewrites I did, Emma’s a little more like her canon self. Her plan may be a bit more complex, but most of this isn’t that much of a reach given what she learned from Sophia. She’s an egocentric teenager who made a plan, bent others to her cause with promises and lies, planned for betrayal, reveled in her power and control, and was willing to do anything to win. Also seems to hate Greg...he probably shouldn’t have shut her down in front of Ren’s store. Bad move, Veder.</p><p>The toughest part of this chapter was that aside from being suspicious of Emma and protective of Taylor, Greg had no idea anything was happening today specifically. His angry confrontation with Sophia actually helped, but then the past few weeks told him that going to authorities was a good idea. Unfortunately, both Blackwell and the BBPD were...not helpful. Then he saw Emma, decided to take decisive action, and didn’t realize he was also on her to do list.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Interlude 7: Having a Backup Plan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Months Ago]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do I have to do this again? She’s been here 3 weeks and every time you tell me to try this it blows up in my face!” Missy whined, turning towards Miss Militia and hoping the Protectorate Hero would have a better answer this time. The woman was supposed to be her mentor! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If your tactics aren’t working, try to use a different strategy.” Miss Militia replied, gesturing at the door to what had once been Missy’s favorite part of the PRT…before their newest and jerkiest member had come along. “Maybe look at things from her point of view, and see if her own tactics will work against her. Never assume your first idea is perfect...have a backup plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy had come down to the PRT Gym on her second week as a Ward, and rather than being talked down to she was lifted up. It was a place where her small size meant that she had so much potential, where everyone was always willing to spot her or give her advice. But now...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now it had been infected, like everything else in her life, by Sophia. Where once Missy was the star, now she always had second billing. There was a new hero on everyone’s mind, and despite her murderous past and terrible attitude, it seemed like all anyone could do was talk about how much faster, stronger, and cooler she was than Missy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, maybe they don’t say it exactly like that, but that’s how it feels! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy gritted her teeth and walked over to the teenager, waiting patiently to be noticed. Sophia just kept running on the treadmill. Finally, Missy asked, “Sophia, will you...please spar with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” The other girl barely glanced at Missy, “I know what’s going on here. Militia told you to come crawling to me so we can be better teammates. Well, I have better things to do than make pretend friends. I’m here to do my time, beat some criminals, and then move on with my life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess I’d probably beat you anyway, so it’s not worth my time. All you can do is run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oooo, real nice try there, short stuff.” Sophia rolled her eyes. “Mommy teach you that one? I’m not dumb enough to let a little twerp like you piss me off that easily. Try harder.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fine, she wants me to think of this from Sophia’s point of view? Let’s try being an asshole!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try harder? Okay.” Missy removed most of the space between herself and the emergency stop button on the treadmill, and mashed it hard. “How’s this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like Sophia went flying, as if this was some sort of cartoon. Still, the treadmill slowed tremendously, and she was forced to shift into her Shadow State to avoid smashing into the wall. Moments later, she came right back out, and slid to a halt a few feet away from Missy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was...you little…” Sophia was breathing hard, her eyes wide, and she leaned in close. “You want some combat training? Fine, see how you like </span>
  <em>
    <span>this,</span>
  </em>
  <span> you little shit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Miss Militia looked in on them a few minutes later, she was happy to see they were sparring. It took her several minutes to realize that the problem was that they weren’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>stopping</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They did seem to be having fun, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, Dec 19, 2010]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on, dude. That’s her best joke yet, and it got you good.” Clockblocker said, leading his armored friend into the Wards Common Room. Both had just completed a patrol, and been unable to get permission to help with Lung’s burning warehouse. Not that they could have done much, admittedly. “You should reward Shadow Stalker, not punish her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being friends with the boy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>annoyance </span>
  </em>
  <span>was something Gallant was familiar with. In both his costumed and civilian lives, Dennis was irreverent, crude, and disrespectful. Though he did his job and had an amazing power, everything from his jokes to his pranks to his name caused no small amount of annoyance to everyone. But he didn’t care!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She has to learn that there are consequences, Clock, and before you say it...</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span> I know I’m not actually the Wards leader or deputy leader.” Gallant stomped in after his friend, then shook his head. “But the people who are in charge never do more than give lip service!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Triumph was the leader of the Wards, and Aegis his deputy, the latter being mere weeks away from taking over the role. But both brought Gallant such </span>
  <em>
    <span>dismay</span>
  </em>
  <span> from the way they handled the situation with Shadow Stalker. She was disrespectful, punishment never seemed to phase her, she regularly insulted her teammates, and worst of all...she never seemed to learn her lesson. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever dude, I guess if that’s the way you wanna spend your time, it’s your life. Maybe you should give her some lip service of your own?” Clockblocker shrugged, removing his full-face mask as soon as the door was shut. He wiggled his eyebrows at Gallant. “Personally, I think this whole Tsundere thing you have going on with her is adorable. I totally ship you guys.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the remark, Gallant made his way towards the Console room and tried to clear his mind. He thought about things that brought him </span>
  <em>
    <span>happiness</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His girlfriend, Victoria was one of them. Another was the feeling he got when helping people in need. He also got great joy from being praised for his actions...something he knew would come when he became Wards leader. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lecture plan queued up in his mind, Gallant opened the door. Laughter poured out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hahaha, stop, stop!” Sophia’s voice called out, laughing and slapping something. “I’m gonna pee my pants! He actually included </span>
  <em>
    <span>socks</span>
  </em>
  <span> as a smell? Why? What movie was it for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no idea!” Missy’s voice replied, and she let out a burst of her own giggles. Gallant rounded the corner to see both of the Wards laughing up a storm, sitting next to each other and smiling. “But Chris said that Smell-o-vision was just too good an idea not to try, and Armsmaster accidentally approved it, so…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both noticed Gallant and trailed off, waiting for his lecture...but he was just staring at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gallant’s power to see emotions as auras showed him only happiness from both. It was the sort of thing he saw on friends, or people enjoying a movie, good book, or concert. A far cry from the normally angry Ward and her frequent target of teasing that he was used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When did this happen? Have they been hiding it the entire time? Will my lecture...hurt this?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shadow Stalker, about your conduct tonight…” Gallant trailed off, seeing a small amount of shame appear in Sophia’s aura, before Vista elbowed her and it faded. Wasn’t this what he had wanted? He cleared his throat, finishing lamely with his backup plan as he left. “Don’t let it happen again. Good work otherwise, both of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Annoyance, dismay, happiness...all emotions he knew well. But confusion? Not so much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, January 2, 2011...PRT Gym]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Most people were in bed right now, but Sophia and Missy weren’t most people.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia was in the gym tonight because she had too much on her mind to sleep, and knew her mother still had a lot of booze left over from New Year’s. Rather than deal with Jackie Hess eventually reminding Sophia that she was the reason Paula and Terry were gone (usually through words and thrown bottles) the Ward had come out here to punch a bag into submission. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there were too many problems to just punch away. Tomorrow Sophia had to wake up, go to school, and help Emma ruin two lives... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yes, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> lives now. Damned Veder!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg Veder, that freaking idiot, had apparently pissed Emma off so much over the break that now she had added him to her plans for tomorrow. Sophia and Julia had until the end of the day to beat the shit out of him. For Julia, failure meant a week of silent treatment. For Emma, it meant going to Blackwell and getting the boy suspended on trumped up charges. For Sophia…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, a few hours ago Emma had reminded her to go to bed early. Her text had even included the words, “Don’t forget </span>
  <em>
    <span>how much you have to lose</span>
  </em>
  <span> by not getting to school on time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As long as she has those pictures of me, I can’t take any chances. Luckily, I have a plan!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Annoyed, she had answered a call from Missy and unloaded on the girl a little, then felt bad about it. Somehow that turned into an invitation to join her at the PRT Gym for a workout, and now it was a sleepover as well? Well, whatever, it wasn’t like Missy was as bad as the others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s your take on that kid who hid in the bathroom?” Missy asked, catching her breath as her run ended. Glancing at Sophia, she saw her pause as well. “Gallant said his emotions were all over the place, and then flatlined. Think maybe he Triggered from being nervous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m not sure being nervous can Trigger someone, otherwise we’d have a lot more teenage heroes.” Sophia had been surprised to see Veder that day, much less have him approach her. She had just been joking around with Missy, passing the time, and then he appeared and just let them both have it. The Wards had mentioned him having a panic attack, but unless he took his meds in the bathroom and they immediately made him a shitlord, something was up. “Probably worried about measuring up to his heroes, and then remembered that one was Clockblocker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, he’s not that bad!” Missy started to defend her friend. “I know he can be kind of-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does he still rest his elbow on your head sometimes?” Sophia put a finger to her chin, pretending to think. “Also, isn’t he the one who used his powers to freeze that bowl of ice cream before offering it to you last week, and made a GIF of you trying to attack it with a spoon?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, Missy flipped Sophia off, and the other girl put the back of her hand to her forehead and pretended to swoon, gasping about how ‘scandalous’ it was. The two burst into laughter, and headed towards the locker room, mutually bringing their workout to a close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they changed and showered, Sophia smiled to herself. A few years back she’d have been thinking that Veder had been a predator all along, pretending to be prey...but she’d put such thoughts out of her head a while back. No, for all intents and purposes it appeared as though Veder had somehow toughened up. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, that might throw off my counter-plan. Maybe I can catch him before school, scare him off?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Earth to Sophia!” Sophia looked up just in time to take Missy’s wet towel to the face. She pulled it off to see the giggling girl running out of the locker room. “If being a hero doesn’t work, you could always become a towel rack!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grinning, she shifted to her Shadow form and gave chase.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the Common Room, Missy began channel surfing and Sophia found her mind wandering.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tomorrow has so many things that can go wrong. So many unknowns. I wonder if...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Missy, I’ve got a hypothetical question for you, interested?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kiss Alexandria, Marry Legend, and Kill Eidolon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Not that, I was…” Sophia trailed off, then cocked her head. “Wait, why in that order?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alexandria’s hot, and if I’m gonna kiss a lady why not have it be the strongest one in the world?” Missy counted off one finger, an innocent smile on her face making it hard to tell if she was joking. “Legend is like, the nicest hero ever, so I’d want to come home to that every day. Finally, I’ve heard that without his mask, Eidolon is a total uggo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, I can’t fault that logic.” Sophia nodded sagely. She took a breath, and then tried again. “But really, there’s something bugging me and I’d...appreciate your input. Or whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, way to convince me.” She grinned, rolling her eyes at the girl. “Yeah, fine. Or whatever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heh, yeah. So, here’s the situation.” Sophia took a deep breath, trying to contextualize her situation. “Your parents get kidnapped by a villain, and the villain holds them hostage. Tells you that you have to commit a crime, or else something bad will happen. What do you do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell the PRT.” Missy’s answer was immediate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, they have your parents!” Sophia turned to stare at the smaller girl, surprised to see not a grin on her face...but rather a serious stare. She grimaced, then waved a hand. “Okay, same situation, but...but they’re going to unmask you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same. Answer.” Missy clapped her hands with each word. “Tell. The. PRT.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what if there’s a deadman’s switch?” Sophia started throwing out her hands. “Even if you catch her, take her phone away, lock it all down, you could lose everything. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re called </span>
  <em>
    <span>the authorities</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a reason, dummy.” Missy cocked her head at Sophia, wondering where all this was coming from. “I know my parents would want me to call the cops!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t you ever seen any movie ever? First thing the criminals say is ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t call the cops</span>
  </em>
  <span>!’” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sophia, the reason criminals tell people not to call the cops is because they’re desperate, stupid, and there are barely any of them. The PRT are a huge organization with money, knowledge, and experience. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Not</span>
  </em>
  <span> calling them is just dumb.” She laughed, surprised the other girl was putting this much effort into an argument. “Fine, so how would you do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sabotage and counter-blackmail.” Sophia steepled her fingers, as though she were revealing some master plan. In fact, she was actually just telling the other girl her real plan. “You sabotage their efforts, like removing the more dangerous parts of their dastardly plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, like taking the bullets out of their gun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, more like replacing them with rubber bullets.” Sophia shrugged. It was a good analogue for how she’d dumped all the trash Madison had given her (</span>
  <em>
    <span>seriously, tampons?</span>
  </em>
  <span>). By the time Emma noticed there was no trash in the locker, Sophia would already have enough to shut the girl down. “Next, you show up at the last moment, make sure she has to do the crime herself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I guess I can see that having a psychological effect. You force them to get blood on their hands, and also maybe throw them off their game. But why still let it happen? Even rubber bullets can still hurt someone...remember that story Miss Militia told us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I remember. It’s all leading up to the endgame...a video camera at the scene of the crime. Get her on film committing the same crimes she wanted you to do.” She’d already put a nanny camera stuffed bear in Taylor’s locker the night before. Its motion sensor would activate when the locker door opened. “Add in texts of her planning it, and some voice recordings, and you can blackmail her right back. Mutual blackmail destruction, limited suffering for the victim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wish there was a way that Taylor didn’t have to go in the locker...but it’s only for a few minutes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>All she had to do was hang back, let Emma be the one to shove Taylor in the locker, and then confront the redhead with the video, sound, and all her text messages. Emma would see that outing Sophia would bring her down as well, and then she...she...wait...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I can’t let Missy get in my head. This is a perfect plan! She’s just being Missy. That’s all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...Sophia? The real Missy waved at her. “Kinda drifted off there. Also, I can’t help but notice you started saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> there...is this a real thing? Are you being-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No, I was just getting into the scenario.” Sophia gave a fake laugh she’d perfected after over a year of pretending to find Emma’s jokes and antics funny. “Besides, if this really was a thing, I could totally handle it myself. In case you’ve forgotten, I was a vigilante for two years.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, but if it really does happen...do me a favor and call me. Think of me as your backup plan!” Missy started to smile, raising an eyebrow at the other Ward. “Because no offense, the last time you said you could handle something yourself, you got arrested for being a vigilante and forced to join the Wards. Your plans kinda suck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia seriously considered that option for a moment, then nailed Missy with a pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One soft beating later, and they were fiddling with an oversized remote control, trying to figure out if Chris had actually unlocked R-rated movies as Dennis claimed. It turned out that he had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A bowl of popcorn and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breakneck 2: Spinal Boogaloo</span>
  </em>
  <span> later, both decided to call it a night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy made Sophia promise to sneak her into theaters to see the sequel in a month.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia was up all night going over her plan, timing it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy’s comments had made her worry, a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About what she would lose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Taylor]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, you look really tired, Sophia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took a moment for her new “friend” to respond, but Taylor held back from pushing. It had been enough of a surprise to have Emma suddenly start being nice again, but Sophia as well? If that didn’t just scream “trap,” then nothing would. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To just pull a Jekyll &amp; Hyde change, hours after tricking Veder into teasing her, was totally on-brand for Emma...especially after she bragged so much about being an actress. But Sophia didn’t have an acting bone in her body. Taylor had always been able to tell what she was going to do, from her face and body language. She was pretending to be nice, and it was creepy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Taylor would have been lying if she said that she hadn’t enjoyed the past two weeks. Sleepovers, shopping trips, long talks both online and IRL about good times and bad...it really had been a dream come true. She’d even met people outside of Emma’s circle of friends, like Allen, and her Dad had started spending less time at work. Was it worth the inherent danger?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine, just a lot on my mind.” Sophia finally muttered, and Taylor leaned in closer. She saw the track star had huge bags under her eyes, and wondered what had her so worried. It must have been something huge. “Just a puzzle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, like what? Two heads are better than one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a hypothetical I was going through about parahumans.” Taylor practically felt her eyes bug out, and blushed as Sophia smirked at her. They all knew that books and parahumans were subjects that got her going, especially after they’d had a week to help her out of her shell. It was an unspoken detail that Emma and the others had been the ones to put her </span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> that shell in the first place.“You know a lot about that stuff, I guess. Want to help me workshop it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, I’d love to help!” Sophia grimaced at that, for some reason, and started to look around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emma, Madison, and Julia were way up at the front of the bus, Taylor noticed, and couldn’t help but wonder why Sophia stared at them for a long moment before talking. Maybe she was trying to ask them all individually? Finally, she sighed and started to weave a scenario of a villain blackmailing a hero, threatening unmasking, deadman’s switches, and...double blackmail?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whole double blackmail thing is dumb, no offense.” Taylor smiled nervously, flinching back as Sophia glared at her. She held up a hand, mimicking a gun, and explained, “Blackmail is like a gun. It lets you force people to do things. But if I’m pointing a gun at you, and you suddenly pull one on me...why would either of us drop our guns?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, because...because you don’t want to get shot?” Sophia looked confused, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, nobody wants to get shot, or blackmailed, but they don’t cancel each other out.” Taylor shrugged, pointing her ‘gun’ at Sophia and gesturing for her to do the same. “If I drop mine, you might shoot me, and vice versa. Just because one of us drops, doesn’t mean the other has to. Especially if you’re dealing with criminals...they don’t exactly have high moral fiber or logic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so...but how else would you get out of it without losing everything you hold dear?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call the police or PRT, obviously. I mean, it’s a boring answer, but also the best one. That, or ask teammates and friends.” Taylor patted Sophia’s shoulder, then started to gather her bag as the bus came to a stop. “Besides, if the hero gave in once, what reason would the villain have to let them go after just one crime? They’d still have the leverage, and they’re still evil.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia was silent as they got off the bus, trailing along behind the others as they walked towards the school. Even as Emma started to drag them towards the far doors, she was just staring down at her phone instead of responding to anyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just as they reached the doors, though, Sophia got into an argument with Emma and ran off. She was talking on her phone, so maybe it was that part-time job she was always talking about?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For some reason, Greg Veder ran after her. That was strange on its face. Almost as strange as Emma dragging her off to announce to Blackwell that they were friends again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minutes later, as Julia punched Taylor in the face and Emma locked her in her own locker, Taylor felt sad. She felt betrayed. She felt disappointed. She even felt a little scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than anything, she felt angry...an emotion she had always shied away from before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now? It gave her strength to fight back, to slam against the locker door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t going to just give up or cry, or wait for rescue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d rescue </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Missy]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Missy lifted her phone, hanging back from her classmates.  “Sophia? What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t a hypothetical, okay?” Sophia sounded like she was running, and Missy’s senses immediately went on high alert. She walked around to the side of the school, avoiding the other students and finding some privacy. “I’m being blackmailed with my cape ID, my plan is fucked, and Mom’s in danger. If I run, a phone call ends me, and...I’ll lose everything. Everyone. I...I...”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goddamn vigilantes. I knew something was up last night. Winslow is...North of here? Yeah.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay put, I’m on my way.” Missy turned and started to walk away from the school, slipping out the gate. “I’ll be there in ten minutes, just hold on for now. Stall for time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? No!” Sophia nearly screamed at the girl, but that didn’t make her pause for a moment. She was already moving past the school buses and ditching her backpack behind one of their wheels. She paused to grab a domino mask out of it, and then took off running. “You can’t come here! I need you to go get my mom, take her to the PRT, do anything but come-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tough shit!” Missy heard her voice distort for a moment, as she decreased the distance between her and a nearby rooftop, then leaped onto it. She angrily reflected that if it weren’t for Sophia practicing roof hopping with her a month back, she’d have been running on the sidewalk. “I’m not just going to let you get unmasked or hurt because you were too stupid to ask for help until the last moment. Fuck that!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t let you get dragged down with me, Missy.” Sophia’s tone made the preteen stop, and she took a moment to put her mask on. It was hard to get it on, because tears were welling up in her eyes at what Sophia was saying. “It’s already too late for me, and you can’t just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I don’t care!” Missy wiped at her face, trying to keep a brave front for Sophia and failing. She smashed the mask in place and started running again, her voice echoing as she used her powers again. “I’m coming to Winslow to save your stupid ass. So stay put and get saved all fucking ready!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Missy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to abandon a teammate. I’m not going to abandon a friend!” Missy choked, then growled. “If you didn’t want help, you never would’ve called in the first place, dumbass!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy hung up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sophia]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>After Missy had hung up, Sophia panicked. She tried to call her mom, but it went straight to voicemail. Her mind kept coming back to Missy, and what the girl was sacrificing for someone she barely knew. All for some dumb “friendship” bullshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s going to charge in, ruin her Wards career, probably unmask herself. That idiot! Shit!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t let that happen, and did something </span>
  <em>
    <span>even more desperate</span>
  </em>
  <span> than calling Missy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia had called Miss Militia, praying the woman who called herself her mentor could help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Protectorate hero had been very disappointed. Her voice had been cold, direct, and without even a hint of her normal patience. She asked for a sitrep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the next few minutes Sophia had been babbling, afraid to stop moving, trying to explain as much as she could about Emma, the bullying, the blackmail, her mother being in danger-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>How her plan was supposed to work, how it would fail, how Missy was coming to help, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to explain herself, to make excuses, to say anything at all that would make up for- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to tell Miss Militia how she couldn’t ask for help. Because everyone kept telling her she was a failure. Gallant, Armsmaster, Piggot, even her mother, they all said she was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She said she’d been so afraid that one more screw-up, one more mistake...and </span>
  <em>
    <span>she’d lose everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jail, Juvie, the Birdcage...she had just wanted to prove that she wasn’t-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop.” Miss Militia’s voice had cut her like a knife. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> will call the Director. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We</span>
  </em>
  <span> will handle this. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span> will be punished. Harshly. Do not run. Do not help. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stay. Put</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she hung up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Sophia was leaning against the wall. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Staying put</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Letting the PRT clean up her mess, protect her mother, and take her off to jail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...but then that idiot Greg Veder came along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wouldn’t leave Sophia alone, so she was forced to shove him. To warn him. To </span>
  <em>
    <span>scare</span>
  </em>
  <span> him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ran off, and she leaned against the wall again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had done her part, and now at least one of Emma’s plans for the day was going to fail entirely. By the time he got back to school, Emma would be gone and... </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. That look on his face. That idiot!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It suddenly hit Sophia that she had accidentally given the boy a pep-talk. He hadn’t been running </span>
  <em>
    <span>away </span>
  </em>
  <span>from danger, he’d been running </span>
  <em>
    <span>towards</span>
  </em>
  <span> it. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Someone else is going to get hurt because of me. No. No!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Growling, she pushed herself off the wall and headed into Winslow to save his dumb ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m already going to jail, guess it can’t hurt to disobey one last order.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia was on the wrong side of the school to rescue Taylor, but told herself that she’d only need a few minutes to take Emma and Julia down. There was no trash in the locker, so Taylor would be fine for a few minutes...she hoped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite that, she was too late, turning the corner just in time to see (and hear) Julia smash Veder face-first into the wall. Emma laughed, and the two shoved the boy into the bathroom. By the time Sophia made it there, the door was already shut...and locked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She spent a moment thinking about getting help, going outside and coming in the window, or even waiting for the PRT...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, she realized she’d end the day either in jail or unmasked...maybe even both. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing left to lose.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So she shrugged and just went </span>
  <em>
    <span>through</span>
  </em>
  <span> the door. Sophia heard Emma telling Julia to beat Greg up. She unlocked the door, loudly, and rounded the corner as they all went quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Veder looked terrible, his face a mess of blood and bruises. He stared at her. Idiot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia walked towards Emma, smiling like an old friend would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she hit Emma, like a hero would hit a villain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be a hero, one final time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg’s battle continues! When all hope is lost, he tries a very dangerous, painful, and...extremely effective plan for beating the bullies. The only problem is, he might not live to tell the tale (he probably will). </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Much like Sophia’s realization that “blackmail doesn’t cancel out blackmail,” a good deed and asking for help at the last minute doesn’t cancel out years of crime, bullying, and violence. She may have sabotaged the locker, but still allowed it. For anyone afraid that I’m going for instant redemption, she’s not going to be magically forgiven, nor will her crimes be forgotten.</p><p>As for Emma, her plan was to give Taylor the friendship she craved...so that snatching it away would hurt even more. She seems to have forgotten that Hebert temper, though. Also this let me have Taylor weigh in on Sophia’s plan, like Missy, so both could point out how dumb it was. Every plan seems awesome, until you tell someone and they start finding all the problems in it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. 2.8: Dealing With Bullies</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>So, I know Greg’s back to school soon. What’s the plan?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I mean, school is boring enough in real life, I’m not sure even fanfiction can make it fun.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Not that, dummy. I mean how’s he going to deal with that red headed bitch?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>You know, the girl who basically sent him to get shanked by nazis!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Could he grab a power and beat up the bullies?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Using parahuman powers on ordinary people, even bitches, is still a Bad Thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Gaaah! Why did you have to write a heroic fanfic? Such a wet blanket!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Besides, she’s just another bully. Greg’s been dealing with them his whole life.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> He has newfound confidence, a strong family bond, and most important of all…</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>The knowledge that he has superpowers and they’re all basic bitches?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Exactly. Bullies may be terrible, but compared to Lung? Nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Why do people even do that anyway? Bully others?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Oh man, that’s a long conversation. I’ve been reading up on that a lot lately.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> To write the characters, I mean. Obviously.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Anyway, it can be anything from learned behavior to peer pressure to a power trip...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> To just being an asshole who treats people different from them like monsters?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Yeah. Hey, sorry if I’m overstepping, but…”monsters?” Do you have bully problems?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Not as such, but I just see a lot of people who treat others badly for dumb reasons.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Like Case 53s. They get so much crap online. Memes, jokes, death threats...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Yeah, it’s sickening.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> What? The Case 53s are sickening?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> What? No! God, no. The way people treat them is sickening. Calling them “Monster Capes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> They’re people too, except life dealt them a bad hand. Yet, despite that, they keep going.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Some try to be heroes, and help people in need. They don’t give up.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> We should be putting them on posters and books, but nobody’s brave enough I guess...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> ...wow.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Sorry, I get kind of heated by that sort of thing. Didn’t mean to spam you there.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Nah, it’s cool. Hey, thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> For what? Ah, crap, I gotta go!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> It’s nothing. Good luck at school. Maybe punch a bully for me?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> No promises.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>&lt;END OF CHAT HISTORY&gt;</b>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Monday, January 3, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>My fight with Julia was not going well, and neither of us had even thrown a punch yet. She was fresh and unhurt, while I looked like Bonesaw had given me half a facelift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had never actually tangled with Julia before, to be honest, because she was fairly new to Emma’s crew. Despite that, it was hard not to see why my fellow outcasts and nerds referred to her as “knock-off Sophia Hess” all the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julia was taller, wider, and stronger than most Sophomores, and she even wore her brown hair in a similar style to Sophia’s. Much like the original she played a sport (girl’s field hockey), was far more brutal than necessary, never got challenged because she was so good, and loved to push people around. She was what you'd get if you told a middle school girl that she had 2 years to become a bully, and they went all-in on making it happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But luckily for me, she wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, and I took full advantage of that as the fight started. See, since I had Sophia’s power in my core (and her personality pushing on my brain), I had been able to focus on Julia despite the pain in my body. Much like how Victoria’s personality had made me feel stronger when people looked at me, Sophia helped me turn pain and obstacles into motivation to succeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sophia should really see a therapist. Pain = motivation seems self-destructive and dangerous.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>So as much as I would have loved to look to my left and see Sophia punch Emma in the gut, air blasting out of the redhead’s lungs as she dropped her purse and fell to her knees, I instead clenched my fists and moved forward. While Julia was turning to face Sophia, Madison leaping off the sink and onto Sophia’s back, I was rearing back with my right fist. By the time Julia saw me coming out of the corner of her eye, my knuckles were already slamming into her temple.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grunted and stepped backwards, barely stunned. Then she smiled at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Let’s see, three bullies are attacking each other, and I get the Brute 0 to myself. Crap.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She swung at me and I stumbled back, blurting, “If you kill me, you’ll go to jail!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fighting a dude in the girl’s room?” She grunted, but stopped and raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that...what’s it called, probable cause?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No!” I shouted, and moved forward to try hitting her in the head again. Unfortunately, she just leaned back from my wild blow and then shoved both hands forwards. She nailed me in the ribs so hard I could have sworn I felt something pop, and my feet left the floor for a moment. My lungs emptied, and I think my heart only restarted after I hit the wall behind me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To add insult to injury (or insulting injury to injury), my already abused head hit the wall as well. I managed to fall into a crouch, but still needed a moment to get my balance as the room spun around me. I may have had a concussion, but had no time to deal with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I looked up, I saw that Julia was looking back and forth between Sophia and I...as if she couldn’t decide who was the bigger threat. I was someone who could run and get help, but was beaten to all hell. Meanwhile, Sophia was struggling with Emma (who kept going for her purse for some reason), and had Madison on her back with an arm around the track star’s throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julia’s confusion gave me a chance to come up with a new plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m outed if I use Sophia’s power. I’m beat if I fight Julia, help Sophia, or go for the door. Shit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There weren’t any plans that wouldn’t result in injuries or outing myself. Worse of all, while I was messing around with these four, Taylor was in deep crap. I had to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem was that Greg Veder was scared, worried, and hurt. My plans were all based around escape, but that was pointless now. What I needed to do was fight, and for that, I would need to stop being so Greg Veder...and be more...Sophia Hess.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wait. That gave me an idea. A horrible idea, but...I was low on options.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I swore to myself I’d never do that again. But, trapped like this...I have no choice. Damn.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia’s power was giving me a sense of aggression. A sort of never-say-die attitude. A focus on combat, on growing stronger, on overcoming </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> obstacle in my way. I felt like failure was just a stepping stone on the way to success.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, I couldn’t use her </span>
  <em>
    <span>power</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but I wasn’t just someone who copied powers…I also copied </span>
  <em>
    <span>personalities</span>
  </em>
  <span>! They made me stronger, gave me ideas, and helped me find insight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which meant it was time to do something really, really stupid and dangerous. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was time for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg </span>
  </em>
  <span>to tap out, and let someone else handle this.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sophia...it’s your turn to finally be a hero.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d had a nightmare, the night after I’d Blended Aegis and Gallant’s powers. A bad one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In it, I was walking around, talking to people and pissing them off. They would yell at me, throw things, hit me...but I just kept smiling at them and burning bridges between us. I kept wanting to apologize, to stop myself from talking, but I couldn’t. Because it wasn’t me doing the talking. It was someone else...using my body. I’d woken up almost screaming, and didn’t sleep that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t just a bad dream, though. It had actually happened. With Aegis’ power preventing my brain from letting emotions happen, I had become robot-like. I nearly outed myself, insulted my family, and kept saying terrible things because I thought I was helping. No intuition, no worries, no self-doubt, no regrets. Just...perfect neutral calm. I had been trapped by my copied powers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how hard I had tried to release the power, the urge to do so would fade away moments later. It was only because of my Thinker Confusion that I had managed to finally release, and even then it had been a near thing. My memory had been patchy, but I slowly figured out what had happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had almost been enough to make me call the PRT right then and there...but instead I just swore to myself that I’d never let it happen again, because of how horrible it had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yet here I am, doing it ON PURPOSE. That pledge lasted a whole week...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing that had scared me most, as well as confusing me, was the way my Blended self had been so focused on being helpful and honest. Weren’t those </span>
  <em>
    <span>emotions </span>
  </em>
  <span>that the power should have been preventing, and if not...why? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when it hit me that the need to be honest and helpful wasn’t because of emotions...it was because they were the personality effects of Gallant and Aegis. With Greg focused on trying to break free, consumed with worry and fear that was being suppressed, their two personalities had Blended together and taken over my body.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I had become Aegis + Gallant, and they had full control of my body. No Greg. Just them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why I didn’t focus on Julia, as she turned back to face me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why I didn’t look at Sophia, as she fought her best friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why I didn’t think about how scared, worried, or hurt I was.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Push Greg to the back of your mind. Remember how it felt. Give up control...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I focused on the feeling I’d gotten when other personalities had influenced me. Their energy.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lung made me want to fight and Velocity made me want to escape. I’d fought to contain them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Alec &amp; Rachel made me love seeing a dog hurt someone. It scared me, so I dropped the power.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Victoria and Ren made me confident, and I learned to focus on it...I used it to overcome Emma.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That feeling...the pressure of holding them at bay...stop that. Let it all out! Embrace it!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I grabbed every bit of Sophia’s personality I could find. The determination, the focus, the drive...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Embrace the nightmare...and let everything else fall away. Become Sophia...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Veder...you idiot...run!” I heard someone speak, and it took me a moment to recognize that it wasn’t my voice. It sounded like mine, though. “I can handle this...get out...of here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you couldn’t be trusted, you fucking turncoat!” Emma snarled, scratching at Sophia’s face and then diving to the floor, trying to open her purse with shaking hands. “I don’t know what you’re doing, but don’t forget that I </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, bitch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I felt anger start to boil in me, but kept it under control. Harness it, direct it, release it...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Time to die, Veder.” I heard another voice ahead of me, and saw a poor imitation of me approaching from the front. That poser, Julia. “Shoulda run while you had the chance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Who the hell is Veder? Wait, did she say I would run away? The fuck does she think I am?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I started laughing, pointing at Julia as if she’d told the world’s funniest joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you-” She cut herself off, staring at me, surprised at my sudden mirth. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right, I’m Greg. I had a plan. Well, Greg had a plan, anyway. Now Sophia has a better one. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but you…” I took a breath, shaking my head. “You’re the one who should run.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without another word, I rushed Julia again with my right fist held back to punch her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, it wasn’t Greg who attacked her. Greg was almost entirely gone. Subsumed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was Sophia now...limited by Greg’s body, but none of his fears. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was why I was going to win against this villain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>two </span>
  </em>
  <span>heroes!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julia was so shocked by my swing that she took another blow to the head, but this hit was just as pointless as the last one. She grinned at me, then gestured for me to try it again. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phase 1: Fail on purpose, setting up the con.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though my personality had been subsumed by Sophia’s, that didn’t magically make me as good a fighter as her. Personality had nothing to do with actual skill, knowledge, or experience. No, this was more about attitude and mindset, as well as how to properly handle failure!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thing is, Julia was expecting me to fail like Greg Veder...and I wasn’t him anymore. I wasn’t going to let a single mistake bog me down, or even the possibility of failure make me freeze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Failure for Sophia was a force of motivation. She didn’t give up. She didn’t accept defeat. She just redoubled her efforts, ignored any feelings of worry, and didn’t miss a step when it came to pushing towards success. She was strong, she knew it, and any weakness was just an opportunity to overcome yet another roadblock. The only reason to fail was on purpose!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect, now she thinks I’m a one-trick pony. Time to switch it up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I rushed in for another wild swing at her temple. Same right fist, same spot as before, but this time Julia was lifting her left arm to block me instead of just taking the hit... </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ha, got her expecting a punch! Now to change the battlefield. Time for Phase 2!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>...and she was thus taken by surprise as I swung my right fist down hard and rushed in to dig the same arm’s shoulder into her gut. She let out a gasp, and I threw my left arm around her waist as my legs strained to lift her off the ground. I managed to get us a few inches up, her feet leaving the floor, and then I threw myself forward and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt the painful pressure of my damaged face mashing into her stomach, as well as having my whole body slam into the unyielding ground. Julia had some padding, but it didn’t really break my fall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she was coughing, and I levered myself up to take advantage of the situation. She managed to grab my shirt with one hand, and I came right back down, but luckily my forehead impacted her chin hard enough that her grip loosened. My left eye didn’t seem to be opening anymore, but I wouldn’t need depth perception for this next part.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scrambled up to my knees and pulled her arms down before squeezing my legs together. Within seconds I was straddling her, both her arms under my knees, and could feel her trying to pull free. Julia’s eyes started rolling around as she realized that the tables had turned.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Phase 2, done. Now to let loose. A few punches were useless...so how about thirty?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the pain in my hands, I began to whip my body left and right, hammering blows into Julia’s head as best I could. Chin, temple, cheek, eye, mouth...I might have even slapped her once or twice. The first few blows didn’t do much, but soon I was pulling back for a swing and realized she wasn’t snarling and spitting at me anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I scrambled to my feet and rushed towards the door, looking back only for a moment as I reached the partition that hid the bathroom from prying eyes. I thought of helping Sophia, even as Emma sprayed her in the face with something. I considered going back to kick Julia in the face, even as she began to roll over. Even pulling Madison off Sophia before she choked the track star to death might have helped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I knew that whatever reason the now-screaming Sophia had for fighting Emma, it had included me getting the hell out of here. I was out of my depth in a fight. So I ran...flicking Sophia’s power on for a moment as I passed out of their view. I went </span>
  <em>
    <span>through</span>
  </em>
  <span> the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, walking through a door feels so strange...although, that might be my concussion.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I could hear Taylor’s muffled shouts and banging to my left, around the corner, and started to stumble in that direction. I ignored the sound of creaking hinges, female shouts behind me, breaking glass, and footsteps around me. I just rounded the corner, saw Taylor’s locker, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something heavy hit me from behind, about halfway there, and I went down. My arms were trapped at my sides, and my head slammed into the ground again. It felt like my jaw had shattered, and I was pretty sure I had swallowed a tooth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not...done...wif...you...Feder!” Julia was on my back, mounting me like I’d done to her only a minute ago. Her face looked horrible, and her bloody teeth gave her a macabre rictus grin. She reared back, one huge fist ready to mash my brains into the ground, and then swung down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And swung down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And swung...was I hallucinating, or had she been swinging down for the past few seconds? Also, was the air distorting around the space between us?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I had time to figure it out, Julia let out a grunt and pitched to the side. She hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, and I rolled over to behold my savior...a little blonde girl. Wearing a domino mask, shaking her fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, and she also had parahuman powers...familiar ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tangs Isa, yoo shaved ma ash.” I woozily got to my feet, and was happy that she was barely paying attention to my mumbling. It sounded like I had been gargling glass and gravel, and I swiftly apologized for calling her by her cape name. “Shorry abow kong oo da. Hep hurps.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...yeah. Okay.” She cocked her head. “You know where Sophia Hess is? Tall black girl? Kinda of an asshole?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grr bapfoom.” I pointed, and she ran off. She must have used her powers, because I heard the door open before she got there, and then open again a few moments later. Maybe she went in the wrong one? By then I was just focused on staying upright and heading for the locker. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor! I’m coming, hold on!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole hallway spun with every step, my throat was on fire, and my face raw. I kept coughing, and was pretty sure I’d been swallowing or breathing my own blood for a while. I needed help, but could barely breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had enough Sophia to keep me going, though, and soon arrived at a very...unique locker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Specifically, because it was only partially closed. Something had jammed in the door, and it took me a moment to recognize the green color of the Urban Travelpack XP Backpack. It must have been so big and hard to get off that they just shoved her in there and it had clogged up the plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The locker vibrated every few seconds, and I could hear her grunting with each blow. I cursed upon seeing that the lock was jammed with something sticky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tayla!” I shouted, and for a moment the rattling stopped. “I’m gone getta ow, kay? Puff again a door, I poo! Reggie? Puff!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite my incomprehensible words, the door bulged a little as she pushed against it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I jammed my right hand in the gap and grabbed the lock with my left. I had adrenaline, I had desperation, and I had Sophia’s personality. I could do this!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With her pushing and me pulling, it...barely budged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then her strength started to give, and I felt like my hand was breaking. Sticking it in there had been really dumb, and now we were both too weak to go back.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This really hurts. A lot. Shit, some Greg is leaking out...a good word is...incandescent?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My mind was wandering, trying to keep me from focusing on the horrific pain from my hand. Incandescent light bulbs, after all, produced light because the wire in them was heated until it glowed. My hand, much like that wire, felt like it was on fire as my blood, nerves, and bones sent my brain all the signals I needed to start thinking that my hand had caught on fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More Greg was leaking through, as the urge to quit grew. The pain started to make me cry, and I couldn’t stop a scream from escaping my lips. I knew I could just use her power to pull my hand out, but that felt like abandoning her and I couldn’t just run away with her powers-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course! Sophia’s shadow power! Why didn’t I think of this before?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as the pain threatened to make me black out and my right hand took on a distinct purple color, my left hand was where all my concentration went...and I flicked the mental switch I had used earlier. My left hand shifted into a smoky form, and I grabbed the lock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With all my remaining focus, I tried to push the power </span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> the lock. To make the lock pull away!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Come on, come on! Why isn’t this fucking working? Why? I can’t fail again! I promised Danny!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But I couldn’t! I couldn’t make it work! I couldn’t put enough power into it!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The power was too weak, I was too tired, the pain was too much. I started to whimper and cry, feeling the bones in my right hand grate, and realizing I was trapped and had failed and I begged Taylor to forgive me for failing her and for not being stronger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled back from the door, as if giving up, and took a deep shuddering breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a moment of silence...like the calm before the storm, and I pushed the last of my power into the lock and prayed and pulled and gasped and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The locker door burst open, as Taylor smashed into it and the lock finally gave way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt like my hand had been dipped into lava, my whole body was cold and hot at the same time. But seeing the door open and her stagger out made it all worth it. She turned, growling, and ready for a fight. I barely saw her reaching out...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything hurt, tears were streaming down my face, blood was pounding in my ears, and I couldn’t even feel my face. I started to collapse, thinking I was dying, afraid that she had mistaken me for her tormentors, or that they would appear at any moment...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Taylor caught me. From what felt like far away, I heard her speak, holding me up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg? Is that you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, did you...what the hell happened to you?” Taylor may have had reddened eyes, broken glasses, a bruise on her forehead, a tear-streaked face, and hands that were scratched and cut...but she’d never looked more beautiful. “Were you trying to...help me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sho boo full.” I tried to shake my head, but it let out a throb of pain. “Shorry. Wuz try...hep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached out and put her right arm behind my back, kindly saying, “You look like shit, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I probably had that coming. The important thing is that we’re talking again. Oh, right.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tayla, ’m shorry.” I said, feeling like my mouth was full of broken glass. I’m pretty sure another of my teeth fell out. She looked confused, then suddenly got mad at something. I got scared, and blurted out. “I get...if nev’ wanna...tock me gain...buh I jush...I…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Taylor gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on me so much that it hurt. “Fuck off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No...not again! Just once...why can’t the world let me have one thing go right? Why-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said fuck off, Emma! I’m done with you!” Taylor snapped, and it took me a moment to realize she wasn’t angry at me, but at the redhead who had joined us at the locker. Maybe ten feet away, although it was getting hard to judge distances. Taylor leaned me against the lockers, then stepped between us. “You had your chance, and it just proved that you’re a delusional asshole. Come any closer, touch either of us, and I’ll put you in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ground</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you bitch!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think you’re a threat to me? I could put you in the locker every day of the week, and nothing would happen!” Emma laughed, as if the bruises and scratches on her face were naught but makeup. She smiled at Taylor. “Blackwell can’t touch me, Danny thinks I’m your friend, Sophia’s my bitch, the school loves me, and all you have is Veder! You’re pitiful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last warning.” Taylor growled, “Go. Away. Or I’ll show you what-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, no...I see it now. You’re different...” Emma squinted at Taylor, then smiled and began to dig through her purse. “Give me a moment to get rid of Sophia, and then you can take her place. It can be like old times. Isn’t that what you always wanted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor rushed forward and clocked Emma in the face, just as the redhead pulled out an old-looking phone. Emma went down, and didn’t get back up. I started to cheer, but for some reason I was having trouble making words. I couldn’t talk... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had so much more to say. So much to apologize for. Warnings, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For instance, I wanted to warn her that Sophia was limping towards us, being supported by plainclothes Vista. All I could think was that now we had to face off against two Wards. Vista had taken Julia down in seconds, and Sophia was bad enough on her own. This was bad!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried to tell Taylor to run, but something caught in my throat. The hall spun. I couldn’t breathe?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was on the ground. My head hurt so, so much. Sophia pulled a fire alarm, making it worse. She grabbed Vista, said something to her, and then ran towards me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She scooped up Emma’s phone for some reason, but didn’t use it to call for help. She just stared at it, then looked at me, and then pocketed it and moved to my side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vista ran away, and it seemed like she was moving faster than she should’ve been able to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was she using her power to get help? My throat was burning. I couldn’t breathe!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My eyes closed, I choked, and there were so many voices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I...couldn’t...breathe...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had a dream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could tell it was a dream, because I felt warm and someone was kissing me. I tried to enjoy it, but everything hurt. Especially my head. It felt like it was splitting. The fire alarm didn’t help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The person pulled back, and I saw it was Taylor. Her lips were dripping red. She looked sad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On my other side was Sophia, wiping at my face with her torn shirt. Her eyes were red and her face swollen. She looked angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At my feet, I saw Emma out cold. She looked as bad as I felt. I felt pretty horrible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the sort of wish-fulfillment dream I liked. My friend was safe, my enemy was helping me, and my greatest enemy was defeated. Sophia and Taylor rolled me over, and warm stuff came out of my mouth. It tasted bad. Sour, and coppery.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were a hundred students all around, pointing phones at us. Allen shoved them out of the way, and called my name. Was I dreaming about him? He was moderately handsome, true...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I saw men with a bed on wheels coming towards me, and just past them was Miss Militia. I wondered if this was a hero dream, or...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was I dead? Maybe I was in heaven, and this was my reward for fighting for good?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was okay. I guess. I died a hero...saving others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...I just wish it had lasted longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I went to sleep...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...so tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt like I was floating on a cloud, and could hear murmuring voices around me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a smell in the air, like antiseptic, and I could hear a beeping noise. A hissing noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My arm wouldn’t move, my left eye wouldn’t open, and my head felt funny.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I opened one eye, and saw that everything was white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George, I think he’s awake!” I heard my mother’s voice, and footsteps. “Get the doctor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face moved into my field of vision. She looked tired, but her face was so happy. I tried to talk to her, but something was in my mouth. She leaned in close, smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg...we prayed for you every day...and never gave up hope.” Mom placed a shaking hand on my cheek. “Welcome back, my brave little hero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg talks to his parents and doctor, gets a list of his injuries, and finds out what’s been going on the last few days. I’m sure the news media has been loving this story. Meanwhile, I’m sure Greg is just happy that he’s not dead!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Congrats, Greg! You survived a fight with someone stronger, tougher, and more skilled than you! You tried talking, you tried taunting, you tried punching, and finally, used a secret technique that you swore never to use...and woke up in a hospital after saving your friend from evil. I dub thee...a Shounen Protagonist.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. 2.9: Dealing With Injuries</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Hey, just checking in. You weren’t on at the usual time, earlier.  </span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>I’ll bet all your teachers assigned a LOT of homework. I’ll check back Tuesday.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>*************</b>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Me again, didn’t see you yesterday. Guess school was busy as heck?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Anyway, I have some new notes on that chapter you sent. See you Weds.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>*************</b>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Starting to get kind of worried about you, dude. This is three days in a row.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Good thing for you I’m not a badass hacker, or I’d dig up your phone number.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Anyway, I’ll just assume you’re busy tomorrow and try again on Friday.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>...hope you’re okay, man.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>*************</b>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>i lied. already checked mon, tues, and weds, so why not thurs, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>guess I should have just skipped. anyway, see you friday.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>this better not be a prank</span>
</p><p>
  <b>*************</b>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>pls msg me back. i’m sorry if i said something that made you mad</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>srsly, im worried about u, just want to know your ok </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, January 7, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The next few hours were kind of a fog, most likely thanks to the drugs they had me on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the plus side, it meant that I didn’t feel any pain from my injuries. On the minus side, with only one working eye and my jaw basically glued shut, I was starting to feel kind of trapped. I also kept having memory gaps as the doctors poked and prodded at me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One moment I was having the bandage over my left eye peeled away, and then suddenly they were wrapping it back up again. I’d be following a light with my right eye, and then the doctor was at the end of the bed asking me to wiggle my toes. I was waiting for them to attach little electrodes to my scalp, and then they’d be pulling them off and telling me how brave I had been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the while, Mom and George were there, holding my hand or staying in my field of vision. I had so many questions for them, like where Dad was...or what had happened after I’d passed out. Taylor, Emma, Sophia, Winslow…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I feel like I’m watching a movie whose lead woke up with amnesia...someone plot me already!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, the tests came to an end and the doctors scuttled off to put it all together, but not before asking Mom to come with them for paperwork. She squeezed my good hand again, then told George she would also be calling Dad. He promised to keep an eye on me in the meantime, and she kissed the only undamaged part of my face before leaving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By then I had fully transitioned from Foggy Pain Meds to Numbing Pain Meds, so I could think again and make little grunts at George. I really wanted him to fill me in, but short of tapping it out in Morse Code I was kind of stuck. My brother just smiled and nodded knowingly, then started digging through his bag, which he’d left on a nearby chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry Greg, when I saw your injuries on Monday, I knew that you’d go crazy if you couldn’t express yourself. Luckily for you, your brother works in Medical Research…” He pulled what looked like a tablet out of his bag, holding it aloft and moving quickly back to stand in front of me on my right side. “This may be hard to use with your right hand, but it should work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the next few minutes, he familiarized me with what was essentially a tablet he’d turned into a modern Speak-and-Spell. He told me that it had been one of his earlier prototypes from back in college, when working on a project that led him into his current line of work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just had to press the letters, hit the big button at the bottom, and…</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“T-H-A-N-K-S...THANKS”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>A voice that sounded suspiciously like George’s if he were speaking through a can of peas spelled out the letters of the word, and then said it a moment later. It had an odd accent of sorts, but I’d just gone from the verbal equivalent of a standstill to a limp, so I didn’t complain. He told me a few other tips, like the autocorrect feature, but I was already typing.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“A-F-T-E-R...AFTER. W-I-N...WIN. S-L-O-W...SLOW.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I saw his lips moving at that last part, and then he looked at my eye and immediately turned away. He paced a few steps away, going to the door and looking down the hall, then came back and leaned in. “Greg...I’m not sure you should really...I mean, you just woke up. It’s pretty…”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“P-L-Z...PLEASE.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>He stared at me for a long minute, then walked back to his bag and dug through it for his laptop. Taking a seat in a hospital chair on my good side, he started typing and tried to explain things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For some reason, the PRT and police took the Principal in for questioning, so we didn’t find out about you until 10am. The hospital called Dad, and within an hour Mom and I were here as well. It was scary.” He cut himself off. George took a breath and looked at me, as if convincing himself that I was really here. He reached out and put a hand on mine. “You were in surgery at the time, but we got the gist of it from the Heberts after the police and PRT finished taking Taylor’s statement. Miss Militia herself even had some questions, as I understand it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, so that wasn’t a dream? Why was...oh right, Shadow Stalker. I guess they came for her. </span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>“Danny and Taylor took us aside and ran us through everything. It was tough to hear.” George made fists, but gently set them in his lap instead of hitting anything. “Then the doctor told us you were out of surgery, but had to be put into a medical coma and...we needed some time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George stopped again, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his head right now. How scared must he have been at that point, to assume the worst. He typed on his laptop a little, then turned it to face me. There was a news program paused there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was from just before noon. If it’s too much, just tap your tablet a few times and I’ll stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the click of a button, the video started to play...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>-just make sure the faces are blurred, Marshall, or...wait, we’re on. Nipper, focus on me.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” A man in a rumpled suit adjusted his earpiece, nodded to the camera, and then began. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Reporting live from Winslow High School, this is Stan Vickery, Channel 12 News. Though Brockton Bay Police have not yet made an official statement, here’s what we know.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stan was standing in front of what I recognized as Winslow’s front courtyard, the police having cordoned off the front doors and placed cones to keep people from wandering around. There were several emergency services vehicles, as well as what looked like a PRT van and an ambulance. Even a fire truck was nearby, probably courtesy of the fire alarm Sophia pulled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>At first it just seemed like a prank, an early morning fire alarm mere minutes after the students of Winslow returned from their Winter Break. But things quickly turned from funny to frightening, as this anonymous video shows.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A video started to play, obviously from a Winslow student’s phone. In it, I could see dozens of students (all with blurred faces) milling around, being led through the halls of the school. The sound was muted, and the flashing fire alarm on the wall was the most likely culprit. It seemed to be just another ordinary Winslow fire drill, at first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the phone’s camera shifted to the right, and viewers could see that there was a traffic jam. A large group of students crowded around an open space, all refusing to move through it. The camera’s owner, taller and stronger than their peers, began to elbow through and try to get a better view. As they did so, the video slowed...before stopping on a horrifying scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“At some point mere minutes after the first bell rang, two terrible events occurred. Based on information we’ve confirmed with Brockton Bay Police, two as-yet-unnamed students were victims of a brutal attack. One was stuffed into a locker, the other badly beaten.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The scene was sickening to look at, but I held strong. I couldn’t let George end it now. Even if that was my own body I was looking at. My face was ruined on one side even through the blurring, my hand almost looked like a cruel child’s attempt to draw one, and there was so much blood. It looked like that hadn’t been a dream after all, I was being helped by…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Luckily, one of the victims managed to give first aid and CPR to the other. In a surprising twist, one of the girls who was allegedly involved in the crime assisted as well. Finally, a brave young man from the school’s football team stepped in to clear the way for the paramedics, as seen here. His quick thinking and strong stature may well have saved a life.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I dimly recalled Allen from my dream, and here he was clearing students out of the way. Even though the video was muted, I could see him as he shoved and bulldozed his way through the students around Taylor, Sophia, and I. Even the E88 kids, who normally might have been insulted if a black kid pushed them, just stared at us and gave way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After everyone had parted like the Red Sea for Allen, the paramedics collected me and ran off. Meanwhile, police had already picked up the unconscious Emma (Taylor must have really hit her) and were escorting Taylor outside. Sophia was also escorted out, but less gently. The video ended, and a new one from outside the school started playing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Both victims were taken to the hospital, as well as all four of the accused perpetrators of this heinous act. Three of the perpetrators only had bruises and cuts, but one had what appeared to be dozens of small lacerations on her body.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Her face was blurred, but the short stature told me that was Madison. Last I’d seen her she had been hanging off Sophia’s back, just as Emma maced her...had she been smashed into a mirror or the window? In the video, I could see her wailing and sobbing, and felt a little bad for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Even the PRT and Protectorate showed up for the party, claiming that they had been in the area and had come to assist police, fire, and rescue services. They swore to get to the bottom of this. Miss Militia isn’t someone you say no to, as this school official found out.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt a little thrill of pleasure as I saw Blackwell and Miss Militia talking about something. The former turned and tried to leave, but the latter grabbed her easily. Within a minute, Blackwell had been dragged to a PRT van, and I could only guess at what her fate would be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>The superintendent has stated that this was a failure at all levels of Winslow’s leadership, and that they intend to harshly punish and hold accountable-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, that was Monday.” George glanced over at me, concerned as I tried to nod reassuringly at him. “Doing okay? Seeing yourself like that can’t have been easy, and we were worried as hell. But with you in a coma, all we could do was wait. Wait...and hope.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He trailed off, staring at me again. I gently reached out and put my mangled hand on his. George smiled at that, and then turned his laptop to face me again. He frowned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Things got worse, that night. Taylor had told us that Emma’s dad was a lawyer, and apparently he helped her set up a pre-emptive strike of some kind.” George showed me another cell video, this one (thankfully) without sound. In it, a battered Emma seemed to be tearfully talking about something, her hands cuffed in front of her in what looked like a police car. “She named everyone else involved, and then went on a tearful rant about how you were all trying to set her up. Pinned it all on Sophia, said you and Taylor were unhinged, and so on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Great, so before we even had a chance to defend ourselves, Emma killed our credibility. Again!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alan Barnes claimed that his phone had fallen out of his pocket, and he was talking to the police at the time when it was posted...but then local news ran with it. The sight of a crying, battered girl even had some people calling for her to be released and Taylor arrested...” George trailed off. He must have noticed that I was looking disappointed, because he suddenly grinned. “Hey, relax! Alan isn’t the only clever lawyer out there, and pretty soon his gambit backfired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, George started another video, prodding me until I looked at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time it wasn’t Stan Vickery, but rather a man in a pressed suit, sitting at a fancy glass desk in a newsroom, a big display behind him. The chyron at the bottom of the screen named him </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nick,</span>
  </em>
  <span> then changed to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>Exclusive Update: Brutal Bullying at Winslow High. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>-with some Breaking News</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Nick gestured behind himself at the screen, where a muted version of Emma’s video was playing. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We’ve already seen the video that went up last night, of Emma Barnes claiming innocence regarding her alleged role in the vicious attack that took place Monday at Winslow High School. She named others involved, as well as claiming that the victims of the attack were actually the ‘real’ perpetrators of a crime against her.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The camera pulled back slightly, perhaps to hide the sour look that had appeared on Nick’s face as he read Emma’s claims. He was sitting at a round table, its other side hidden in dim light. There were three people there, and even before the lights came up I recognized one silhouette.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tonight though, we have something that turns all that on its head. An exclusive interview with one of the victims of the attack, as well as her father and lawyer.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The lights came up as Nick turned, and he gave a winning smile to his guests. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tonight we’re joined by Taylor and Danny Hebert, as well as Sharon…uh...Krapkatzowsnik?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Don’t worry Nick, you’re not the first person to stumble over it.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” A tall blond next to Taylor laughed, then she waved it off as the man stammered. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But my last name isn’t the only thing I want to correct you on. Earlier, you said that Taylor was the victim of an attack, and that couldn’t be further from the truth. Why don’t we let her tell us why?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite some bruising still evident on her face and hands, Taylor only looked a little bit nervous about being on the news. She spoke slowly and carefully, telling Nick what had really happened. Over the next few minutes, Taylor told Nick...no, the entire town of Brockton Bay, all about what Emma had done to her. She had a journal of the events the school ignored, emails she got, and photographs of injuries she hid from Danny so he wouldn’t worry. She talked about the bullying, the teasing, the fake friendship, and all of it culminating in the brutal events of the previous day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>-she had just been pretending to be my friend, pretending that she was sorry. Even talked to my Dad and promised things were going to be different. Like an idiot, I believed her.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Danny put a hand on her shoulder at that. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>We spent 2 weeks having sleepovers, hanging out, going to parties, and...it was great, honestly. Just like old times. But it was all just a game to her.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>So why throw it all away?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Nick looked confused. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why go through all that trouble?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe she was hoping it would hurt more? Like, giving someone a gift and then taking it away, as opposed to just never giving them a gift at all.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Taylor shook her head, letting out a laugh. Danny didn’t laugh, and I knew why. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But she sabotaged herself. I remembered what it was like to have friends. I grew closer than ever to my Dad, and I even made other friends. Like, I met a really smart guy at one of her parties, and we started hanging out. After the locker, he actually helped save Greg’s life, clearing the way for the paramedics.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Ah yes, the...locker. She shoved you in your locker after attacking you.</span></em><span>” Nick sighed, then waited for Taylor to drink some water. “</span><em><span>Sorry.</span></em> <em><span>If it’s too difficult, I won’t force you to relive it, but...how’d you get through it?</span></em><span>”</span></p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, she must have thought that being betrayed, being tossed in a locker and abandoned...it would destroy me. That I would feel sad, about losing her again.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Taylor took a moment to collect herself. She accepted a tissue from Sharon, wiping her eyes, and took a breath.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “But she was wrong. I didn’t get sad...I got mad! I started fighting. I knew my Dad loved me, heard someone trying to help me, and was too pissed to quit. All she did was remind me of everything good in my life, and that I had to fight for it!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Taylor, on behalf of everyone at Channel 12, I am deeply sorry for assuming you were a victim. If anything, you deserve to be called a survivor.”</span></em><span> Nick smiled at her again, then turned to the lawyer.</span> <span>“</span><em><span>Sharon, I believe you had something else to talk about, tonight?</span></em><span>”</span></p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, thanks Nick. Alan Barnes is trying to turn public opinion against us, hoping his daughter’s video will shame Taylor into giving up. Meanwhile, Winslow simply fired someone and is trying to sweep this all under the rug.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sharon looked directly into the camera, a phone number graphic appearing next to her. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But we’re stronger than that, and this is bigger than Emma! I’m calling upon every nerd, outcast, geek, and dork who has ever been bullied by her, or anyone else at Winslow, to call this number. Help us force Winslow to do more than just fire a principal.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s right.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Taylor nodded, holding up her bruised and bandaged hands. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Let me be the last kid to suffer at Winslow because of bullying. If you won’t do it for me, do it for Greg Veder. He’s in a coma right now because Emma and her friends nearly beat him to death.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>It doesn’t just have to be students, either</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Sharon added, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Teachers? If you’ve ever wanted to teach your students the power of the community to stand up to injustice, this is the time for it. Call us, and be a part of history. Help us fix Winslow, please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George stopped the video, remarking, “Luckily, Sharon is representing both of our families. In fact, that’s the reason Dad isn’t here right now, she said she had some good news for him...”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“W-H-A-T...WHAT. N-E-W-S...NEWS. ?...EH?”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>We both chuckled over that last part, and George muttered about prototypes. Clearing his throat, he shook his head and explained, “Since that interview, the phones have been ringing off the hook...people coming forward to support you and Taylor, or stand up to Winslow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The confusion must have been obvious, even on my ruined face, because George grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One call even came in five minutes after the interview. I think his name was...Allen. He said that you used to eat lunch with him, and had inspired him with your bravery. Then more people called.” George looked proud, and I felt my face heat up. “Looks like you have more allies than you thought, bro. To think, you said you weren’t popular at school...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite it hurting my face, I couldn’t stop smiling back at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour later, my mood was considerably less upbeat. Mom and George were sitting beside me, along with Dad. He had nearly wept upon seeing that I was awake. Before I could greet him, a doctor bustled into the room with various charts. Once everyone was seated, he put them up on the wall and began listing off my injuries and situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While your cracked rib, strained muscles, and other minor injuries should only take a few weeks to fully recover, I’m afraid that the other issues will be a much greater challenge.” The man adjusted one of the charts, and now I could see that the inside of my face almost looked worse than the outside of it. “Let’s start with your hand, then we’ll go to what’s left of your face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s never a good sign when a doctor refers to your face like that. “What’s left of…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gregory suffered extensive damage to his hand. Four fingers were broken, significant nerve damage, and that’s not even taking into account-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom and Dad both winced as the man talked about muscles, tendons, and even a crushed bone. Their expressions didn’t improve as he noted that all my teeth had been recovered, nor that my broken jaw and damaged eye were “actually quite salvageable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They must have thought I was in shock, because I hadn’t really reacted to this news. I saw George clench his jaw and nod at me, probably thinking I was being strong for them. It was none of those things, but then the doctor suddenly brightened and changed the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, under normal circumstances we would recommend physical therapy for the hand and mouth. Both would be long, painful roads to recovery.” The man smiled creepily at us and glanced at his watch. I figured that he was just trying to get the diagnosis off so he could leave. “Six months at the very least. But in this case we actually-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I gave a little cough at that, wishing he’d just hurry up and finish. My family reacted badly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doctor!” Dad said, looking as if it physically pained him to refer to the man with the word. He gestured at the door. “Could we have a few minutes to talk, as a family? This is a lot to take in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but what I’m trying to say is that-” The man looked at his watch again, and George got up and started pushing him out of the room. “In only a few hours, we have Pan-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, but we really need time to process this.” George talked over the man, finally slamming the door on him. “Geez, can you believe that guy? What, was he late for tee time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some people just don’t deserve to wear a stethoscope,” Dad muttered, and patted me on the leg as he smiled at me. “Son, don’t worry about a thing. With George and I helping you, we’ll make sure you get the best medical care. We’ll be there with you every step of the way!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you trying to leave me out of this?” Mom sounded affronted, but I could hear the playfulness in her voice. “Don’t worry son, I’ll make sure you have all the good food you need to get better, and won’t let them push you too hard. We’ll get through this as a team, like the Veder family always does!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s really beautiful, but the thing is that we don’t need to worry about any of that!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had been thinking about it for the past hour, but even before I knew the full extent of my damage I kind of figured I would end up with a long recovery time. That was something that would have scared me a few months ago, but now...was barely a concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have powers now, after all. I can copy a healing power (from a hero this time) and all’s well!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The only problem was that my parents didn’t know about it, and were rightfully scared for me. All they could think about were the surgeries, recovery times, physical training, and more. They couldn’t even look at me now, probably imagining all sorts of…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I can make them feel better. If there was ever a time to out myself, this is it. Here we go!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>“I-S...IS. O-K...OK.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“We know Greg, we’re going to get through this.” Dad nodded at me, adding, “You’re being so brave. I’m so proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t even need to try and take a deep breath, because a machine is breathing for me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>“I-M...I’M. A...A.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>My finger paused over the tablet. Worries began to sprinkle across my mind. They started off like big, fat raindrops, and soon turned into a tidal wave of doubt, fear, and paranoia. I dimly heard the machine beside me start beeping, as if counting my sudden influx of fears.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe this isn’t the best time? Should I call Kalpin and Hobson first? Do I tell the PRT now?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What about if the hospital finds out and sues me for the whole ABB thing? Will they eject me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This suddenly seems like a really bad idea...no! No, this is a good idea. But what if...if...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>“A...A.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>A</span>
  </em>
  <span>fraid, sweetie, we understand.” Mom reached out, cupping the less-injured part of my face. “But we’ll be here for you. We’ll help you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, not Afraid, A parahuman! Why isn’t my hand moving? Is it the drugs?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right!” George nodded, putting a hand on my foot. “We all saw the news, and how you stood up for that girl who was being bullied. You didn’t back down, even for-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>George, help me! Tell them! You know! I have to tell them, but if I tell them then...no, I have to!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“George, don’t talk about the news!” Dad interrupted with a loud whisper, his eyes darting to me and then back again. “We can save that for later, we don’t want to stress Greg out with-”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“P...P. P...P. P...P.”</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why is this so hard? Just type the rest of the word. P-A-R-A-H-U-M-A-N! I need to-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, I can’t talk to them about this, so I can’t explain it, I can’t cover all the bases.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They might get mad, they might be disappointed, but I had to...I had to...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t want to lie to them anymore! I want to be truthful. But they might hate me!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I want...I can’t…I can’t breathe...I can’t breathe!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s saying P...for Panic attack!” Mom gasped, her face paling. “Quick, get the-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was...why can’t I...where’s...what...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I could barely hear them now. It was like they were in a tunnel, getting further and further away with every beat of my heart. My heart was so loud, it sounded like a marching band was crashing into the walls in my brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could hear a pounding sound, barely audible over a beeping sound, and then Mom was in my face and George was jabbing at a red button and the whole world was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I opened my eye, I saw only white.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a cool feeling on my face, and moving my eyebrow I could feel a cloth on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can remove that if you want.” A voice I didn’t recognize spoke, and a hand touched my arm. I made a sound in my throat, as close to an affirmation as I could manage. The hand left, and I felt George’s tablet under my right hand. “Okay. But first I want to tell you a few things. To start with, you’re safe in the hospital, and everything’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I passed out when trying to out myself to my parents, and am in a hospital post-beatdown.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We have vastly different definitions of “okay.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had a panic attack, but no further damage was done. It’s now Saturday morning, and the doctors were letting you sleep until the tests on your brain came back. Your family will be here in a few hours.” The cloth came off my eyes, but the level of light on my eyelid didn’t change. “I’ve dimmed the lights, and the door is closed. Just open your eye whenever you’re ready, and we can talk face-to-face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I carefully opened my right eye, the left still bandaged, and finally saw my conversation partner. She looked to be about my age, with short brown hair, freckles, and clothes that resembled robes...red and white ones. She smiled and gave a small wave.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She has a haze around her...a parahuman. Panacea. But why is she here? Why come for me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Greg, I’m Panacea, but you can call me Amy if it’s more comfortable for you. I’d been meaning to come out here all week, but I got...held up by some family stuff. They were supposed to tell you I was on the way but...it’s just been a crazy week for me.” She looked down, smiling as I tapped at George’s tablet. “What’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“U...YOU. D-O-N-T...DON’T. S-A-Y...SAY.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I...sorry!” She slapped her forehead, groaning at the flub. “I guess we can compare stories later. Right now, let’s see about getting you back to normal. May I have permission to heal you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“N...NO.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Panacea, or Amy I suppose, looked shocked, and I growled before trying again.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>“T-Y-P-O…TYPO. Y...YES.”</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great! I was worried there for a moment!” She laughed, then reached out...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Panacea’s got this well in hand, so let’s take a look at some bullies getting punished, the Heberts getting a break for once, and how the PRT deals with its own. Regrets, justice, and new opportunities, all in one Interlude of justice!</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Honestly, that’s just a bad doctor. First he lists off a bunch of injuries and how painful the road to recovery will be. Then, the cherry on top of the suffering sundae, he decides to save the “Panacea is on her way to heal you” part for the end. Also, Stan, Marshall, Nipper, and Nick aren’t OC’s, they’re from Worm Interlude 20. As for Sharon, all I did was make up her name, we'll see more of her next chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Interlude 8: Family Matters</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Director Emily Piggot, Friday Morning]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Days like today, I’m almost tempted to have Panacea fix my kidneys, just so I can destroy them with alcohol.” Emily muttered, looking over the vast pile of paperwork on her desk. She had come in this morning to find three large piles. “Maybe if I close my eyes, it’ll all go away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emily closed her eyes, and thought about having a clean desk and a crime-free city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened her eyes, and found that she still lacked the parahuman power to fix problems.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, she began to attack the first pile, labeled, “Hebert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[The Hebert Family, Monday Evening]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, this is great and all, but I’m not really sure how we can pay for it all.” Taylor smiled nervously at the tall woman before her, having just heard a very passionate explanation of her legal strategy. Taylor’s face was still sore from her bruise, but the hospital had assured her nothing was broken. “We’re not exactly swimming in cash, you know. I don’t mean to be rude…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I understand, but believe me that it won’t be a problem.” Sharon had swept both Taylor and her father into the fancy law offices of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Link, Mortise, and Carpenter</span>
  </em>
  <span>, plopping both into comfortable chairs and using a digital display on the wall to go over their plans. “But it’s on the house!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Danny looked at Taylor. Taylor looked at Danny. Both looked at Sharon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sharon just laughed, getting up and closing the door after giving both a bottle of water. Taylor was suddenly thinking about the story of Aphrodite, wondering if she was being tricked by one of Alan Barnes’ lawyer friends. Finally, her thirst made her take a sip. It was...water.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess if I’m going to be tricked, I may as well do it fully hydrated. Is this a lime flavor?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I heard about your story on the news, I flew around town trying to find you. Er, so to speak. It was a story that hit close to home, you see.” Sharon plucked a framed photograph off her bookshelf, a series of first-edition novels and law manuscripts beside it without a speck of dust on them. She handed the picture to Taylor. “What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the picture was a tall, skinny, pimple-faced girl with glasses. She was wearing what looked like a Halloween costume, some sort of white Disco-themed thing with a high collar and sequins. The teenager couldn’t have been much older than Taylor, and looked happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this your daughter?” Taylor asked, seeing that Sharon couldn’t have been older than her early 30s. She had a sort of energy around her, so maybe that was making her seem younger. She was so light on her feet, she practically glided back to the teen and pointed at a banner near the top of the picture. “Oh! Sorry, that says...Winslow Winter Ball...1994?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep, that was me, 16 years ago. I had been told that the theme was Disco, and spent a full month making my own costume and learning all the steps to some groovy dances.” She laughed, shaking her head as Danny smiled, then held up both hands and tried to ward off the embarrassment. “But unfortunately, I had been...misinformed. On purpose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, now I see it. The way she’s standing alone. How nobody else is dressed in a costume…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was being bullied back then, for all sorts of dumb reasons, and the ringleader had pretended to be my friend and help me plan out a costume. She even got her friends in on it, had them talk about their own costumes when I was in earshot.” Sharon took the picture back, and stared at her past with a mix of envy and regret. “I was so embarrassed that I skipped school for a week. I thought I’d never come back from it. When I did, I got punished, and they kept on bullying me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sharon put the picture back, then gestured at the muted TV on her wall, showing the school.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So when I saw someone else who had it just as bad, if not worse, I guess I saw myself in you. I had always dreamed that someone would save me, back then.” Sharon shook her head and combed her fingers through her hair. “In the end, I had to save myself. Be my own hero. But then I saw your case and thought...and what kind of hero would I be if I let this go unpunished?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why take the case for free?” Taylor couldn’t help but be suspicious. “Is this just catharsis?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe, but it’s also revenge, in a way. Winslow’s teachers never believed me, and it looks like they always ignored you. My classmates always tormented me, and it appears that you had the same happen to you. I always felt so alone and unloved...and I didn’t want you to feel that way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s not.” Danny finally spoke up, and Taylor was happy to see that he sounded different. A month ago, he might have been argumentative, accusatory, or just angry. But now he sounded determined, decisive, and...defensive, but in a good way. “She has support. Lots of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then, let me join her. Together, we can force Winslow to change, make sure the news media reports the real story, take your bullies to task, and show everyone else what it means to mess with girls who use the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>catharsis</span>
  </em>
  <span> in casual conversation!” Sharon held out her hand, smiling at Taylor and offering to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait.” Taylor held up a hand, the bandaged cuts and bruises making her look like she’d stuck her hands in a blender. Some blood had leaked through here and there, reminding her of something else. Someone else, in fact. “What about Greg Veder? He should get help as well, and if you think I’m going to just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Greg’s father is already on the way here. I actually ran into them before I found you. They were in from the word go.” Sharon’s hand was still out, and her smile even brighter. “I’ll get justice for both of you, and we’ll fix Winslow together. I swear it! Ready to be a hero?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah!” Taylor accepted her hand. “What’s first? Emma’s dad is a lawyer, so I’m sure he’s going to be a threat to...what are you laughing at?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, it’s just that I know Alan, and you calling him a threat was funny to me.” Sharon pretended to wipe a tear from her eye. “Anyway, Nick Summers on Channel 12 owes me a favor, so I’m thinking that we…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Danny just drank his water. Today had been hard...but he’d never been more proud of his daughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[The Barnes Family, Friday Morning]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, this is very simple, Mr. Barnes.” Douglas, PRT Lawyer and generally nice guy, was feeling even his seemingly infinite patience start to run out. “You have three choices, and if you would just stop-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t believe you think you can just railroad us into this!” Alan Barnes, Divorce Lawyer and protective father, placed his hand on the shoulder of his bruised and bandaged daughter, Emma. “The burden of proof is on you, and so far nothing I’ve seen would stand up in an actual courtroom! All I’ve seen is slander, libel, and fruit of the poisonous tree!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Legal buzzwords aside, Mr. Barnes, this doesn’t look good for Emma. She threatened Sophia with unmasking, and tried to blackmail her into attacking Taylor Hebert and Greg Veder. The locker, had Sophia not sabotaged its contents, would have been filled with dangerous- ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sophia forced me to do it!” Emma interrupted, tears welling up in her eyes. “This was all her plan! I was j-just a pawn! She said if I didn’t hurt my friend Taylor, she’d hurt m-me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is that so?” Douglas might have believed her a week ago, given his general dislike of Shadow Stalker, but now he knew better. With a few taps of his finger, a video started playing, with sound. “Then how do you explain this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>-you’re a delusional asshole.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Taylor shouted at Emma, and just out of frame they could see Greg Veder weaving back and forth, bleeding. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Come any closer, touch either of us, and I’ll put you in the ground, you bitch!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>You think you’re a threat to me? I could put you in the locker every day of the week, and nothing would happen!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Emma laughed, smiling at Taylor. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Blackwell can’t touch me, Danny thinks I’m your friend, Sophia’s my bitch, the school loves me, and all you have is Veder! You’re pitiful.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Last warning.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Taylor growled, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Go. Away. Or I’ll show you what-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, no...I see it now. You’re different...</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Emma squinted at Taylor, then smiled and began to dig through her purse. She pulled out an old phone. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Give me a moment to get rid of Sophia, and then you can take her place. It can be like old times. Isn’t that what you always wanted?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The video paused, and it was no coincidence that it was right at the point where Taylor’s fist hit Emma’s face. The girl in question was shivering, her tears flowing freely. Real ones, this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We checked the phone from the scene, and were able to lock those files down. A few more hours, though, and the face, address, and name of a Ward would have become very public.” Douglas held up a small stuffed bear, then twisted its head off and revealed a chip. “Earlier footage from this nanny cam has Sophia nowhere to be seen, just you and Julia beating Taylor and stuffing her in her locker. Add in the threats you made to Hess, the emails you sent to Hebert, and the-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um.” Alan cleared his throat. “So, what were those options again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Option 1: You try to fight us in court. Don’t. Don’t do that. You will lose. Badly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I get it.” Alan held up a hand. “Option 2?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you already know, our PRT psychologist spoke to Emma yesterday. Combined with everything else, it paints quite a picture.” Douglas tapped a thick folder in the middle of the table. “Option 2 is that you sign these forms, and Emma spends several years somewhere quiet and safe, where she can get help with her-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not crazy!” Emma yelled, slamming both hands down on the table and starting to rise. Her father grabbed her in a desperate hold, half hug and half grapple. She fought him for a moment, swinging at him. “I’m not! I’m a survivor! I’m strong!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and these people will help you be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>kind of strong.” Douglas tried to put a positive spin on it, but he’d seen the evidence and testimonies, and this girl had issues. Even if he hated what she’d done, she was young enough that she could get help. “So that instead of finding it fun to hurt people, referring to them as ‘prey,’ or planning ways to get revenge, you...won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Option 3?” Alan asked, looking up from his whimpering daughter, then sighed. “Nevermind, it’s going to be Juvenile Hall, isn’t it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. She’d be there until she’s 18.” Douglas looked flatly at the man, offering him advice. “We rarely see kids come out the other side better than they went in. Ask yourself, do you want her to spend three years in a place designed to help her, or just a place designed to punish her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only took Alan and Emma five minutes of whispered discussions, tears, and hugs before Alan decided to go with Option 2. Their family was rich, and could afford to pay for a facility like that. Maybe someday, Emma would even look back on these days and see them in a positive light, as the day her life started to turn around. For now, she just stared silently as her father left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made the right choice, and that’s one less lawsuit to worry about.” Douglas tried to reassure Alan, placing a hand on his shoulder as they both stepped out into the hall. A woman in a suit was there, and smirked at Douglas from behind Alan’s back. “Good luck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well hey there, Alan! What a surprise, running into you at the PRT.” Alan turned around and grimaced, recognizing Sharon. The fact that she had a big smile on her face, as well as a folder in her hands, did not fill him with confidence for his other case. “I figured you’d be coming up with a new defense after your daughter’s two friends agreed to testify against her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alan’s defense had been shaken when Madison Clements flipped on Emma in exchange for only a year of community service and academic probation. Her injuries weren’t life-threatening, but after nearly thirty stitches the small girl had been more than willing to reconsider her dedication to Emma. Julia had also turned, getting only 2 years in Juvie instead of 3.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not over yet, and I still have-” He tried to think, but nothing was coming to mind. “I have…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna know what I have?” Sharon held up a folder, shaking it tantalizingly in front of him. “I couldn’t have gotten it if you hadn’t let your daughter post that video online. Thanks for that, by the way, really made all the people she’d ever hurt come out of the woodwork.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not trusting himself to say anything polite, Alan simply stared at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, fine, if you’re going to be a spoilsport, I’ll just tell you.” She opened the folder, holding out two pieces of paper. “The first is a list of the witnesses who came forward to confirm Emma and her friends were involved in the bullying, cyberbullying, and harassment of Taylor and Greg. Kind of makes a pattern, I guess. Why, one even had a cell phone video! What a witness!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alan felt as if he should have let the officer take him away instead. The world was drifting away, and perhaps Sharon noticed that and felt sorry for him. She switched the papers, now showing him one that had a bolded number on it. He looked at her, his eyebrow raised in confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A modest settlement, to be paid to my clients, the Veders and Heberts. Add in a restraining order to keep your family out of their lives for the rest of yours, and all can be well.” She smiled, but this time there was no malice in it. Just one lawyer offering another a way out. “Otherwise, we’ll see you in court, and...I’m pretty sure you’ll lose a lot more. What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alan sighed, and took out his pen. Sharon offered her back, and wished him luck in the future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alan would probably have to sell his house, call his family for support...but that was okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was nothing left in Brockton Bay for the Barnes family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[The Hess Family, Friday Afternoon]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“-do you disagree with any of the statements, accusations, or crimes that have been laid out before you?” Douglas paused, taking a long drink of his water and letting his voice rest for a moment. He’d been reading a seemingly never-ending list of crimes for the better part of the past fifteen minutes, only stopping to breathe and get acknowledgement that the other person in the room was still conscious. After a moment he added, “I need that verbally, Sophia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia Hess looked at him, blinked, and whispered, “No. It’s all true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of glaring, crying, or arguing like Emma had, the Ward (for about five more minutes) was just staring at the table between them.  A set of Tinkertech shackles connected her to the table, preventing her from standing. Use of her powers, heavy activity, or a small remote in Douglas’ pocket would activate them, but he hadn’t needed it yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The hell is with her? I was there when we did this last time, and she was snarling and spitting!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“While we would normally want your parent or guardian here, your mother is...unavailable.” Actually, that wasn’t true. Douglas had left Jackie Hess several messages before finally ordering the PRT to bring her in. She had stormed into the interrogation room, shoved Douglas out of it, and slammed the door. The one-way mirror let them all see a vibrant argument, as well as wince occasionally at Jackie’s...hands-on parenting style. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Five minutes later, Jackie had stormed out in tears, her daughter staring after her. When Douglas tried to get her to stick around for sentencing, Jackie had flipped him off and shouted, “Keep her, jail her, I don’t care anymore. First Paula, then Terry, and now this! I’m done!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sophia Hess, the Ward known as Shadow Stalker.” Douglas intoned, standing and beginning to pace around the room, a small notecard in his hand. “The following are the facts of this case...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The PRT has delved into not only the last few weeks, but also the last several years of your life. We know every crime, every threat, and every mistake you made.” He gestured at the large pile, having gone through it with her in painstaking detail. “You have confessed to several crimes, as well as provided us with evidence that implicates you in others. You played an integral part in a years-long bullying campaign. You used your powers to harass and harm civilians. Worst of all, you brought shame to the PRT, Wards, and Brockton Bay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t disagree, only staring at her shackles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Despite asking for help at the last possible second, you still kept this a secret from the PRT. Emma Barnes may have been blackmailing you for a few weeks, but rather than coming to us for help...you set out to accomplish a plan that was idiotic, dangerous, and potentially deadly. You could have been unmasked or gotten two teenagers killed, at the least. Do you get that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I should have...” She trailed off, noting that the lawyer was already moving on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Speaking of unmasking, you also kept secret the details of your brother, Terry Hess. A man who not only has connections to dozens of drug dealers and criminals, but is also wanted for murder and armed robbery. When we went to question him, we found that he had left the day you were arrested. Your mother will be going into protective custody, for now.” Douglas sighed. “The only positive to come of it was the data he’d collected on Brockton Bay criminals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I don’t envy the analysts going through Hess’ files. One had the word ‘Skidmark’ on it. Ugh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Douglas took a deep breath, composing himself. It was time to bring this to an end. Finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In considering your sentence, the PRT determined that the second most heinous punishment possible would be to sentence you to the Baumann Parahuman Containment Center.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Birdcage.” Sophia whispered. She tried to wipe at her face, but the chains prevented her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, the Birdcage.” Douglas loomed over her, recalling a particularly loud argument only hours before. “But there’s a punishment that Director Piggot, Deputy Director Renick, and your mentor, Miss Militia, agreed would actually be far more effective. Putting you in the Birdcage would mean you could hide from your shame and failures. Cut off from society, you would be free of expectations. No, you’re getting something much worse than the Birdcage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Worse? Y-you’re going to k-kill me?” Sophia’s tears were flowing freely now, “B-but I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we’re not killing you, calm down.” Against all odds, Douglas actually felt sorry for the girl, especially after seeing evidence of the abuse her mother and brother had subjected her to. But none of that excused what she’d done. “Luckily for you, the PRT has sunk a lot of time and money into you. Apparently being able to turn into a smoky ghost means that you get an opportunity nobody else would. Thus, instead of going to hell...you’re going to purgatory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, maybe a little grim there, Doug. Let’s dial it back a bit. She’s still a 15-year-old.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“First of all, you’re getting sent to the Parahuman Asylum in Philadelphia. Your psych report suggests that your toxic family life, violent tendencies, hero complex, and lack of impulse control were all major factors in your current situation.” He frowned, looking away as Sophia recoiled in confusion. “Don’t give me that look. You’re the one who tried to pull off some convoluted vigilante blackmail bullshit instead of just asking for help, so this is on you. You can’t be trusted to take care of yourself, make good decisions, or even function as a person...let alone a hero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dug out some paperwork and shuffled it over to her, pointing out the areas she needed to sign. He explained that she would be getting daily treatment, and was expected to cooperate fully. If she wanted to get better, then she was going to have to give it her all. If anything, Sophia seemed a little insulted that he thought she’d try to half-ass anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Second, we know about the voicemail you left for Panacea, and how you assisted in saving Greg Veder’s life. You even gave first aid to Madison Clements, after smashing her into a mirror and giving her dozens of minor lacerations. Your Wards Trust fund will be used for the medical bills of Clements, Hebert, and Veder. The rest will be used to fix the bathroom you broke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia smiled at that, and he immediately made it vanish with the third condition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Third. Your grades were terrible, even with Barnes and Clements helping you </span>
  <em>
    <span>cheat</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so you’ll be repeating the grade. If the Asylum releases you this year, you’ll be going to Arcadia in the Fall. Expect higher standards, and harsh punishment for cheating. Fail again, and you repeat again. Start any fights or bully any kids, and you go straight to Juvie until you’re 18. Got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally, if you do indeed get out of the Asylum this year...you’ll spend every weekday until the Fall doing the scummiest, dirtiest, smelliest community service that the PRT can find for you. You owe hundreds of hours of it and will be suspended as a Ward until we consider you fit for duty, so you’ll have plenty of time to give back to the community.” He paused. “Any questions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia had no questions. She just felt numb.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had fought to protect her mother, who now hated her. Jackie wanted to disown her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had fought for her reputation, and now it was all gone. Nobody would ever trust her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had dreamed of fighting crime, and was now a criminal. She was being sent away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worst off all, she had to deal with it alone. No family. No friends. No trust. She had nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Douglas had been right. This was worse than the Birdcage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Miss Militia]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a rumor on PHO about Miss Militia, that her weapon changed out of some nervous twitch. In reality, her power, a green and black energy that could take on the form of any weapon she had ever truly understood, changed based on her memories. On weapons and details that she associated with certain people and events from her past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, as she stood by a van and prepared to see off one of the most troubled Wards she’d ever encountered, it was a knife with a leaf emblem over its hilt. It reminded her of a dear friend who had passed on long ago, and his ability to find even the littlest good in a bad situation. She gripped the knife tightly, as if holding Reed’s hand once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s hard to find any good in this situation, though. It’s a beginning, but she only sees an ending.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where’s Vista?” She asked Sophia, taking note of the way the teen flinched at the question. “I would have thought she would come to see you off. Especially after all her effort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aegis and Gallant told me how close she came to getting suspended, or worse. Gallant was angrier than I’d ever seen him, said I was turning her into a criminal like me.” Sophia replied, glaring at her knees. “So, I lied to her, one last time. Told her I was leaving in a few hours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They shouldn’t have said that. I’ll talk to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It’s better this way.” Sophia shook her head, fists clenched in her lap. “This way she can start fresh. Get a new Ward in my place, someone who isn’t a fucked up...orphan. Or whatever I am now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s going to be okay.” Neither of them believed that. “Jackie will come around. She needs time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever.” Sophia waved, putting on her seatbelt as the PRT started the van. She refused to look at Miss Militia, but still choked out, “You were a good mentor. I was just...broken. Thanks for trying. Sorry I was such a shitty...everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door closed, and then she was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the van drove off into the distance, the hero reflected that she had no idea how to fix this. Luckily, she had friends, and knew that they had never let her down. One was a knight in shining armor, and the other always had jokes no matter how bad things got. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They would be able to help, wouldn’t they?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Director Emily Piggot, Friday Morning]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally.” Emily carefully slid the last of the papers into a neat pile. “Just five minutes until quitting time, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Where there had once been a mountain of papers, folders, permission slips, and more, now there were only three neat piles. On top of each was a single document with her summation, recommended actions, supporting statements, and a signature.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It took all day, but I can finally lean back, close my eyes, and enjoy a few minutes of pea-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Director?” A voice took her out of her peaceful place, and Emily opened one eye to see that there were still three minutes left until quitting time. She opened the other eye and saw Miss Militia, peering into her office. “May I speak with you? There’s been a...development.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh. Fine, come in, close the door.” The hero obliged, and only after the door closed did Emily look up at her. “I warn you, though...this had better not have anything to do with Sophia Hess. I’m done with her for today. Finished. All out of patience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The suspended Ward had somehow been at the middle of a huge Gordian Knot of conspiracies, problems, crimes, and lawsuits that had made Emily’s day a living hell. Not just the Barnes, Hebert, and Veder families, but also Winslow, Arcadia, the fire department, police, and media.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and on top of that, now I have Jackie Hess threatening to disown her own daughter. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Hess will stay in the Asylum until she’s 18, but I’m not betting on it. That girl’s been a nightmare since day one.” Emily shook her head, sadly. “Goddamn teenagers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, about that. I might have asked a friend for some advice on that situation.” Militia paused, fiddling with her phone, and only now did Emily see that the normally straightforward Protectorate hero was being unusually skittish. “I’ve been talking to her for months about Sophia, taking her advice since she’s worked with difficult children before, and well...listen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Militia hit a button on her phone, and what sounded like a conversation came from it:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>I just don’t know what to do. Foster care is horrible in Brockton Bay, and I don’t have the time to take on another duty.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Miss Militia was saying, sounding tired. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I thought I’d ask your advice, since you always seemed so…</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>So smart, beautiful, and funny? Why yes, thanks for noticing.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The other voice was familiar to Emily. Whoever it was, the woman sounded incredibly chipper and confident. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll get on the next plane to Brockton Bay, so I can back you up! We’ll be like lesbian step-moms, except that we’re both straight. You can be the military badass, and I’ll be the wise-cracking goofball.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, that isn’t what I-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, fine, you caught me...I’m kind of pansexual, but don’t go telling PHO. Anyway, you won’t talk me out of this, I’m already grabbing my go-bag and costume, and heading out now!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, what I mean is that I’m-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Whoa, you mean you’re not straight either? Well now I have to come! I was always jealous of you and Chevalier when we were Wards, but now I can get in on that action.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” They both heard a door slam. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll be there soon. Tell our step-daughter that it’s gonna be okay, Mommy’s coming!</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line went dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emily stared at Miss Militia, her face expressionless, despite her brain screaming at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Jealous of you and Chevalier when we were Wards.” That voice. She sounds like...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The clock on her desk let out a little chime, telling her it was quitting time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Militia.” Emily finally said, placing one hand on top of her carefully arranged paperwork. “Am I correct in assuming that you just invited Mouse Protector to Brockton Bay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Director.” Miss Militia held out her hands, placatingly. “Look, I know she can be a little-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Emily threw her clock at the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg has a heart to heart with someone who knows more about hearts than anyone in town...Panacea! Too bad she doesn’t do brains, because he’s also talking to her about some of the stuff in his. What does she know about anxiety, anyway?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: This is the last we’ll see of Sophia for a while, but it seemed like a proper send-off. On the one hand, she bullied a girl for over a year and probably helped her evil brother rob/kill people until they split ways. On the other hand, she realized she had messed up, tried to be better, and was blackmailed/coerced into some of her crimes...but she still committed them. </p><p>She’s lost her family, her reputation, and her freedom. Maybe the Asylum can help her? Sure hope that there isn’t anyone at the Asylum who likes that Greg kid...that could be bad. Speaking of mysteries, who was Sharon? Hint: look at the name of her law firm. Interlude guest star!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. 2.10: Dealing With Healing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Sorry about yesterday. I guess I just get really worried about losing people.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Not that you’re gone. I’ll bet you just have a lot going on right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>It’s just...I don’t have a lot of people in my life right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>I mean, I’ve got my therapist, and some people I see, but not a lot of...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>So when someone I’ve been spending a lot of time with just vanishes...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>It scares me. I know that you said that your self-insert isn’t exactly you.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>But you said you read all those psych books, so you know...about anxiety.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Anxiety’s not something that just goes away.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>I can still freak out about the littlest things. I feel like such a baby sometimes.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>But no matter when I next see you, I just want you to know:</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>I’ve really enjoyed working with you on this project.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Even if it never gets posted, it was a really good experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>You’re practically my best friend. Sorry if this comes off all creepy.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Now hurry up and get better or reset your password or whatever!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>We have so much to catch up on…</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Like, there’s this news story out of Brockton Bay I saw. Some kid got beat up.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Except, he was doing it to protect a girl, one who was being bullied.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Looks like he was trying to be a hero, and just got stomped hard. Like, real bad.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Crazy thing, his name is Greg! I kind of wonder, did you base your Greg on him?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Or maybe you know him? Wait, are we writing friend fiction? I love it!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Anyway, I guess I’m just rambling at this point. I miss my friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Come back when you’re ready, and I’ll be here. &lt;3</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, January 8, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Amy, you said you were having a crazy week?” I asked, stretching my mouth and poking at my newly-grown teeth with my tongue before adding, “Tell me about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was glad that she’d decided to heal my jaw first. Apparently the process wasn’t as instant as I’d have liked, but thanks to a little baggie of my teeth and a copy of my dental x-rays, I was fine from the neck up within a few minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her power even let her remove my breathing tube like it was nothing. I’d forgotten how wonderful it was to breathe on my own...and let a small sigh of pleasure out as she finished the last of the lacerations on my face. As I gave her a wide smile, she returned it with annoyance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why do you want to hear about my week? You’re the one getting healed, I thought you’d want to brag about how you got all these wounds.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I do, but it would be rude if I did all the talking, and you seem pretty tired.” She looked away, rubbing at her face. Thinking I’d said something dumb, I quickly added, “Plus, I’m pretty sure </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> week was </span>
  <em>
    <span>way</span>
  </em>
  <span> crazier than yours, so this way I can really blow you out of the water!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take that bet,” she muttered, pulling out her phone and tapping an application. It took...a while to load, but then I saw a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of messages. “Actually, you’re one of the two reasons my week was so crazy. I was a little, um, under the weather earlier in the week, and my phone nearly got bricked because of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, how did I break your phone? I’m just a nerd who got beat up!” I started to say more, but then it occurred to me that she might want to actually respond. Plus, her comment about being ‘under the weather’ was confusing. Couldn’t she just heal herself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ever since news broke of some kid standing up to bullies and nearly dying, my phone has been practically exploding with emails, calls, and messages.” Amy loaded up the messenger program and turned the phone to face me, scrolling through it. “My classmates, capes from other towns, the police and paramedics, some guy called Mr. G got half your school to sign a petition...”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, Mr. Gladly? I barely even know the guy! Heck, I thought he hated me for talking too much!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“-Battery and Assault actually agreed on something, Mouse Protector somehow got my number and said to ‘do it for my daughter’ for some reason.” She put a hand to her temple, as if getting a headache. “Plus, all the Wards kept texting and calling me about it. Hell, I even got a cryptic voicemail about you from Shadow Stalker, of all people. So yeah, thanks for killing my phone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started getting misty-eyed at the thought that all these people cared so much about me. Most didn’t even know who I was, and here they were saying my life </span>
  <em>
    <span>mattered</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>powerful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of power, as she went back to healing me I looked at Amy and could see that she actually had two powers. They were linked, but it was easy to identify them as they lit up with every change she made to me. In fact, I knew she was using them on me </span>
  <em>
    <span>because</span>
  </em>
  <span> of how they looked...and how familiar the shape of one of her powers was to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first power looked like my body. As she used it, I felt like she knew every cell that made me...Greg. This was some sort of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Body Understanding</span>
  </em>
  <span> power, I think, that let her touch someone’s flesh and instantly know every little bit of them. It seemed like a Thinker power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second power couldn’t have been more different. It was like a...crystal, I suppose. Except that it existed in several dimensions, constantly changing shapes and sizes, giving off an energy that I could see, hear, feel, and yet my senses could barely comprehend. Ever-changing, ever-moving, ever-</span>
  <em>
    <span>Shaping</span>
  </em>
  <span> anything it came into contact with, all I had to do was-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I realized she was talking, and turned my power off. That had been trippy to look at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and that should do it.” Amy pulled her hand away and sighed. “All better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, this is incredible. I know you probably get this all the time, but thanks!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s what I do.” Amy shrugged, then pulled a small pamphlet out of her pocket. “Based on the damage I saw, I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask whether you’re aware of how dangerous it is to let a new parahuman experiment on you, or to do it yourself without oversight and support?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, sure.” I paused, noting that the pamphlet had </span>
  <em>
    <span>PRT</span>
  </em>
  <span> on it. Oh, this was probably a pitch of some kind. “But, as long as they play it safe and don’t go public until they’re ready, can’t they-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Amy’s face </span>
  <em>
    <span>twisted</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and she leaned in to whisper angrily at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure if you have powers or just know someone who does, but something damaged several of your glands about...a week ago. Your hormones were out of whack, and whatever did this nearly caused permanent damage. It could have stunted your growth, damaged your brain, or permanently scarred you...if I hadn’t been here to fix it. Is this what you call ‘playing it safe?’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stared at her, and she started breathing heavily after her outburst as I just reeled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My mind racing, I tried to think what could have-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, that was when I had Aegis’ power. When I messed with my body...choked off my emotions.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, if a friend did this, you need to talk to them. If it was you...no pressure, but you really might want to talk to the PRT. No, shut up.” She held up a finger as I started to protest, and I closed my mouth. “Whether powers were involved in the incident that brought you here or not, can you honestly say that some advice and experienced feedback would </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> be a bad idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I guess it wouldn’t hurt. I really should call them and check in.” I admitted, then sighed as I saw she wasn’t letting this go. “I’m just a bit scared of admitting that I messed up. Big time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, for reasons I probably can’t disclose without getting my...mother angry, I’m not allowed to heal anyone else for another...19 minutes. So if you want to call the PRT, I can just hang out here in case you have another panic attack.” I nodded and lifted the phone by my bed, luckily having already memorized Hobson’s number weeks ago. “Good. I’ll be here if you need me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amy pulled out a dog-eared paperback book and started to read, pretending to ignore me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>RING</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>RI-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Hobson’s familiar voice was quiet in my ear, and I tapped the button on the side of the handset a few times while he continued. “My partner Kalpin is currently driving, but I will still endeavor to help you however I can before he crashes into something. Who is this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, hey...this is…” I lowered my voice, putting my hand over the phone. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Not ABB Kid.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Not ABB Kid. I thought your voice sounded familiar.” I heard a car horn in the background, and screeching tires. Knowing the wild life of adventure these two led, it could have been anything from hot pursuit to a grocery trip. “How are you doing? Have you been doing well working with your friend to improve yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, that’s been going well. I made up with my family, and learned a lot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see, and what about physically? You understand your powers, and haven’t gotten hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I ah...I bumped my elbow a few days ago, but aside from that I’m doing great!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t say. Pardon me a moment, I just spotted our suspect.” His hand must have gone over the receiver, because I only heard muffled voices, followed by more screeching tires and a siren. A car engine revved, and Hobson came back on. “Could you call me back in fifteen minutes? I’m currently in hot pursuit of a repeat offender. Thank you. Goodbye.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The line went dead, and I glanced up at the clock nervously. I had actually been looking forward to speaking to the man, but duty called. I told Amy about the time limit, and she closed her book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the next fifteen minutes, I gave her a rundown of </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> crazy week, editing a few details out as need be. Though I couldn’t exactly tell her how my powers worked, I still gave her an idea of how I’d tried to think like one of my bullies, and use it to beat Julia. How I let pain motivate me, how I helped Taylor, and how confused I was at Sophia kinda-sorta helping me at the end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amy shook her head at that, assuring me that I was probably reading too much into it. That a criminal suddenly being nice was more often a trick than anything else. Despite her words, my experiences with Lisa, Ren, Rachel, and Alec had made me start to see the world differently. There were more shades of gray for me, now, because people were so complex.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> easy to just go with my gut feeling, and know that I didn’t even have to lift a finger. The PRT was going to probably cut her loose from the Wards. She’d go to Juvie, and maybe this would finally be the thing to keep her from ending up in the Birdcage someday. Really, I was doing her a favor! She deserved everything she got, for all the pain she’d caused.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She helped Taylor save my life. Is that why I’m so confused? Do I feel like I owe her? Why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fifteen minutes.” Amy’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I realized my time had expired. I smiled my thanks, then lifted the phone next to my bed and called Hobson again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>RING</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” Hobson’s voice was low, and I could hear his shoes clicking on a linoleum floor as Kalpin’s sneakers squeaked. “Sorry, I’m still in pursuit, so I’m keeping my voice down, but in the meantime I can help you. Before I do, though, could I perhaps review the situation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure?” I looked at the phone. “But if you’re in pursuit, don’t you need to be quiet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem, our suspect has proven to be blissfully unaware of our presence. I doubt he even knows we’re in the building.” With that said, I heard Kalpin laugh, then the man muffled himself and snorted. “So, just to review: We first met you at the hospital, and let you off with a warning after you caused chaos via a teenage hero complex, panic, and new powers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wouldn’t put it that way, but okay. Not the best start, but everyone has to start somewhere.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our second time speaking, you promised to seek out a friend to support you and call you out on stupid decisions. You were going to lay off the power usage, rebuild your familial and support networks, and most of all think your choices through before making any dangerous decisions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Family loves me, I feel confident, and GstringGirl gets me. It all worked out, except the last part.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally, we are now having our fourth encounter, but before I get to that I would like to tell you a potentially related story. Think of it as a tale of warning, from an investigation I did days ago.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, fourth encounter? I think he skipped one there. Still, he does have awesome stories…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few days ago, I was investigating the aftermath of a particularly brutal altercation. A young man had fought off bullies to protect a friend, and his parents were simply heartbroken. They had started to wonder if they truly knew their son, and why he hadn’t told them of his troubles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s PRT, so he probably looked into Shadow Stalker. Therefore, me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I made a note to come back and have a talk with the parents, to try and mediate between them and their boy. It so happened that their son was in a coma, so I took note of his room number.” He paused for a moment, and I began to feel a sense of dread in my stomach. “Interesting phone fact, when someone calls from the hospital, their room number appears on the Caller ID.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s an odd thing to...wait a second. Crap! I need to get out of here! Where can I hide?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was our third encounter. This is now our fifth.” Before I could struggle free of my sheets, the door burst open, and Hobson and Kalpin stood framed in the doorway. The former was holding his phone to his ear, but staring right at me as he continued to talk into it. “What do you have to say for yourself, Gregory? Why haven’t you told your parents? Do they even know you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Shit, they’re going to tell Mom and Dad about my powers, and I...I can’t...why can’t I...breathe...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My vision tunneled, and everything went black.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I woke up, I was looking at the ceiling and hearing whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-idiots thought you’d just kick the door in and be big shots, in a goddamn hospital?” Amy’s voice was low, and she sounded angry. “What if he’d...oh, he’s awake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amy?” I mumbled, turning in her direction. “What happened? Did I...die?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you didn’t die. You had another panic attack.” She moved aside to reveal a pair of browbeaten PRT agents. “Boys? Something to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah...yes.” Hobson cleared his throat, Kalpin grumbled as well beside him. “We would like to apologize for startling you, Gregory. There’s no excuse for the way we acted, nor the danger we put you in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, sorry I scared ya, kid.” Kalpin looked the most contrite I’d ever seen him. “We didn’t know about the panic attacks, man. Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Imagine how I feel.” I tried to smile at them, and they attempted to return it. “Kind of makes my plans of becoming a hero a bit tough, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s a tough one.” Kalpin frowned, looking earnestly at Amy. “I know you don’t do brains, but...got any ideas? I know we come off as handsome and amazing professionals, but even the two of us have limits for...things like this. Is there a safe way forwards?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luckily for Greg, I’ve been rereading some psych books lately for...personal reasons.” Amy looked down at her lap for a moment, then turned back to the agents. “Why don’t you two take a walk? Greg and I can try some ideas, and we’ll call you later. Knock, next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both nodded, leaving to get their car and move it somewhere “more legal for parking.” Neither of us asked what the heck that meant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what can we do?” I asked, nervously looking at Amy. “Do you know what’s wrong with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay then, let’s start off with a simple fact: Nothing is wrong with you.” She squeezed my hand as I tried to correct her. “Shhh. You were brave enough to stand up to bullies, smart enough to call the police, and kind enough to help others. Nothing. Is. Wrong. With. You.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If nothing’s wrong with me, then why do I keep having these panic attacks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, would you say that you overthink things?” I nodded. “Do you have anxiety? Trouble speaking when nervous?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, it practically runs in my family.” I grinned, looking down at my lap. “Mom and Dad even told me that I came from a long line of worriers and outcasts, back when I tried to tell them I was a para-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A parahuman. I couldn’t breathe, and my heart raced, and...oh god, it’s happening again and-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop.” Her hand went over my face again, a towel blocking my vision. “Greg, tell me three colors starting with the letter B.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-blue, burgundy, and...brown?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great, now tell me your favorite sandwich. What’s on it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A reuben. W-why?” I could feel confusion start to overtake some of my panic, and my breathing slowed a little. When she asked again, I started to list its ingredients...slowly. Then she asked about my favorite smells, movies, and...before long we were just talking. The towel came off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The important thing was, whatever she’d done it had helped keep me from passing out. After another minute and some water for both of us, Amy decided to try a new tactic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, when you have these panic attacks, are you usually thinking or talking about something? Is there a topic that’s running through your mind, anything all the attacks had in common?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...I guess I worry about a lot of things.” I cocked my head, but was pretty sure all of the times I’d had these attacks had usually been when I was worrying about being a parahuman. That time in my bedroom, after the Big Cry with my parents, and so on. “But more often than not, it’s when I’m worrying about my powers. Or thinking about getting help with them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay. Do the attacks happen more often around certain people, or when thinking about them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see…” Thinking back, the only common denominator was my family. Maybe this was a nervous thing, like how it’s harder to keep a straight face when someone stares at you. “My parents, I guess. They were usually around. Wait, are you saying-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Every time you talk about them at the same time as your powers-” Amy sighed, then used her power to send warmth through me. “-a chill goes over your body, your heart speeds up, your respiration increases, and you start to sweat. Your parents are the key, along with-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My god. How did I miss this? Every time I had an attack, I was thinking about the same thing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“-my powers.” I finished, my voice croaking. I tried to pull my hand away, but she wouldn’t let go. I wanted to cry, because I knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly what was causing it</span>
  </em>
  <span>. This wasn’t because or my power or anything, it was my own stupid brain working against me. “So that’s it, then? I can never tell them, or even think about doing it? I have to sneak around? I have to be alone, forever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, that’s not it. You’re not alone. I know what it’s like-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you don’t know.” I wiped at my eyes with my other hand, looking at her and pretending to laugh, barely making the right noise. “It’s my problem, not yours. You’ve got a perfect life, a perfect cape family that everyone looks up to, you don’t have to make up a story about-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not a story!” Amy almost shouted, slamming a hand into my bed. “Shut the fuck up already! Stop acting like you have the market cornered on shitty family problems, okay? Just...just...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned away from me, and I felt cold as her hand left mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of us spoke for a minute, and then Amy started to talk in a low voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last week, my sister asked me to help her train one of her powers. She was afraid her Aura had given some kid a panic attack, and she wanted to work on it.” Amy turned back to look at me, and I saw how tired she was. “She said it would be like a sister project. I agreed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A kid? Wow, I just can’t stop making problems for the Dallon family. I think I’m cursed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“We gathered some of her friends, and spent a week with her testing different ways to manipulate her Aura, and I used my power to read her success.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you couldn’t do brains?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” She snapped out of whatever daze she’d been in, looking at me and nodding quickly. “You’re right, I can’t. But I saw how their bodies reacted to her Aura. We put a full week into it, along with my normal hours at the hospital, and my other studies and hobbies, and…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked down, fiddling with the hem of her robe. “I kind of overdid it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, like you got a Thinker Headache?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something like that. I woke up on Monday with a headache so bad I couldn’t get out of bed, but it was mostly gone by the evening.” She sighed, rubbing one of her temples. “But by then I was wide awake, thinking about the people at the hospital who needed healing, and so I...snuck out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People on PHO do joke about her spending more time here than at home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I woke up the next day, feeling like crap again, and that kept repeating for a few days.” She ignored my gaze, probably already thinking the same thing I was. “Then yesterday, I woke up to Carol, who had gotten a call from Arcadia about my absences. She was...not happy with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Not a lot I can say to that. I know my parents would be pissed if I skipped half a week, too.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still had the Thinker Headache, and felt like I was going to throw up. I wanted to scream. At her.” She twisted her fingers, glaring at them. “I’d barely gotten any sleep, her voice was like nails on a chalkboard, and I’d even started crying. But...then Vicky stepped in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve met...heard that she can be a force of nature. How did that go over?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish I knew. Before Carol could say anything, Vicky just dragged her out of my room.” A wry smile appeared on her face and she started to rub her thumb across her knuckles. “I must have dozed off, because suddenly it was an hour later and Carol was back in my room. I was afraid it was round two, but she didn’t yell this time. She just sat on my bed and...apologized.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, so kind of like how George stood up for me Christmas Eve, huh? Go Vicky!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“She said that she had no idea I’d been helping Vicky, that it had all been her idea, or that I’d been sneaking out to heal people.” Amy sounded surprised, as if this was the first time her mother had ever apologized to her. But that was crazy, right? “I mean, she was still mad as hell, and grounded me, but she also said that I had to take better care of myself. Even made a bunch of rules I had to agree to, like limiting my heals per hour and checking in with a family member.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m happy for you, really.” I felt bad for even saying this, but I had to know something. “But, why did you tell me that? It sounded really personal, and we just met today...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two reasons. First, because you’ve given yourself impossible expectations to live up to, something I know all too well.” She started to list things off on her fingers. “I was trying to be a daughter, a sister, a healer, a student, work extra hours at the hospital, and a dozen other things. It was all too much for me, and I crashed hard. Does that sound familiar?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hmm. I was trying to be a student, a new hero, fix my relationships, learn my powers, and...ok.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Second, because I always thought I had to do everything myself. I thought Carol was just ignoring me, Vicky had her own life, and that I was kind of alone. But I was wrong, and so are you.” She held up her phone again, showing me all the people who had asked her to heal me. Even people I thought hated me, or didn’t know me. “You also have your family, the PRT, and now the amazing healer known as Panacea on your side. We’re here to help, if you need it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a lot to take in, and I needed a minute (and some tissues) before I could respond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, it’s just hard to think that someone I admire, a cool healer in a superhero family, is also just an ordinary teenager.” I nearly whispered, sniffling and wiping my nose. “That for all your amazing power, all the people you healed, you still have problems…just like me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah. You can’t spell parahuman without the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>human</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you know. I may not be able to do brains, but I get why they’re important.” She grimaced, covering her face with one hand and groaning. “Ugh, I just remembered another of Carol’s rules...I have to start seeing a therapist. I know it’s good for me, but I’m kind of...I don’t like it. Knowing there’s something wrong with me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, none of that.” I held up a finger, looking serious. “You were brave enough to heal strangers, strong enough to stick it out through a Thinker headache, and smart enough to let your sister help you. Nothing. Is. Wrong. With. You.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or if there is, I guess they’ll fix it?” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Shrinks actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> brains. They just use words instead of bullshit super powers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wanted to laugh, but suddenly...I knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly</span>
  </em>
  <span> what to do. How to solve my problem.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Amy just helped me with my brain, using both powers and words...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe I could do the same thing?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An hour after Amy had left, there was a knock at my door. I was so busy polishing off my third tray of food that I barely looked up as my visitors entered. I had my shirt off, so they’d see the lack of bruises, and for...another reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gregory!” “Greg!” “Wow, you look great, bro!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom, Dad, and George moved to my bedside, offering me hugs, kisses, and a light punch on my newly healed shoulder. We all chatted for nearly a minute, as they watched me flex my hand and show off my teeth. Amy had even fixed my slight overbite, since she was healing my jaw anyway. Dad joked about how much we’d save on dentists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I eventually got a word in edgewise, and said I had a confession to make. They sat down, waiting for me to gather my thoughts, and I stared down at my knees as I started to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s something I really need to talk to you guys about, and it’s...not easy for me to say. For the past few weeks, you might have noticed that I’ve been acting differently. Changing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have to be honest about this, before I can be honest about anything else. I have to say it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to talk to you guys so many times, but I wasn’t sure how to. The truth is, I’m...a…a...”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was never about my powers, was it? I made the powers my focus, and forgot it was because...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid.” I finally said, choking. “Afraid of disappointing you. Afraid y-you’d h-hate me! For what I am…for being a failure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I sobbed, hiding my face in my hands, and heard their chairs scrape. I felt their hands on me, warm on my shivering shoulders and wet cheek, and I knew it was time. I could feel it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could never hate you.” “We love you, son.” “It’s going to be okay, Greg, just talk to us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, I was going to tell the truth. About my panic attacks, about my fears, about why I was so scared to come clean, about...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>About everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*******************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg talks to his family about the root of his greatest fears, knowing that they may not make sense. His parents tell stories they’ve never told, his brother reveals a shocking secret, and...the truth finally comes out about Greg. For real this time.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: As some people guessed, he’s been having panic attacks for a while now. While it was tempting to say this was just his Shard...he’s also a teenager with anxiety. The idea of coming out to his parents, admitting failure and fault to two perfect people, scared him. But now, it’s time for him to try and move past that, to find the honesty and answers he needs.</p><p>Also, for the people who wondered if Panacea was going to out him by looking at his brain, good news! She didn’t even have to, because of how much he messed himself up with that Aegis/Gallant stunt. Glands collect signs of tampering, even his power wasn’t enough to hide the effects of him choking his emotions. She even pretended it had just been a parahuman he knew who had experimented on him.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. 2.11: Dealing with Fear & Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Hey, this might be out of nowhere, but I had a few ideas for future storylines.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Greg gets kidnapped by some shadowy villain, and George has to save him.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I mean, he’s got all this tech, right, so maybe he could be the hero for once.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>That, or you could use it to introduce some characters who aren’t just dudes.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Second idea, the Slaughterhouse Nine come to Brockton Bay, and they...</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Actually, on second thought, don’t use it. Those guys are too crazy.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Hell, you put that online, they might be inspired to actually come to Brockton Bay</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>That’s like tempting fate by putting an Endbringer in your story or something</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>In fact, I saw this one rumor on PHO about a certain angel-lady Endbringer.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I’m not going to use her name, because...well, you can probably guess why.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Story goes that every time someone writes a fanfic with her in it, she comes to visit </p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Pretty sure it’s bullshit though, or we’d have a lot less towns by now.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I guess we’re better off working with the truth, even if this is just fiction.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>All the best fanfics are based on personal experience. That’s what I think, anyway.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Huh, that’s odd...I just got an email from someone claiming to be your brother...</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Hold on...hospital? Oh my god, I’m so glad you’re okay!</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I guess it’s a good thing you have your family with you.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Oh cool, he says you’re going home tomorrow! </p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I was really afraid there...but I knew you’d be okay.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, January 8, 2011]</b>
</p><p>My whole family was hugging, holding, or touching me. They were telling me it was okay.</p><p>They were supporting me.</p><p>We’d had a big family cry-hug thing before, back when I had Mastered myself into being calm and honest, about a week ago. But this time things were different, for three reasons. </p><p>First of all, back then, it had been all of us. We had all been weeping, babbling, and practically falling on the floor trying to apologize and talk at once. It was an ugly, beautiful, uncontrollable mess. We’d all been tear-streaked, snot-nosed, drooling messes, but as a family.</p><p>
  <em> This time, it’s just me. I’m the only one crying and babbling. But it’s okay. </em>
</p><p>Second, last time we’d all shared something. Dad had talked about his reasons for deflecting with humor, and fear of being harsh like his own dad. Mom talked about her worries of me growing up without having had a chance to enjoy every part of my childhood. George had talked about his own teen years, and how he didn’t think to help me through the same problems. Of course, I had told them why I always felt like such an outcast at school.</p><p>
  <em> This time, I just told them my biggest fear. The cause of my panic attacks. That I’m...afraid. </em>
</p><p>Finally, last time I had just trusted them when they said they were there for me. When they said they had my back, and I had seen with Gallant’s power that they’d actually felt strong emotions about my getting hurt and being scared. Maybe because my memory was a bit fuzzy from overusing his Thinker power, there had been...a fear that they were hiding something from me.</p><p>
  <em> But this time I trust them completely, because I know they were being 100% truthful just now.  </em>
</p><p>I knew it for a fact, because before she had left...I’d copied Amy’s power.</p><p>***</p><p>It had been on her way out that I’d hit on the idea of doing something to cut my fears in half. To destroy my uncertainty about how my parents felt about me, to tell me that I could trust them with anything. So I had copied her power of <em> Body Understanding </em>.</p><p>A few minutes after Amy left, a nurse and doctor had come in to remove my bandages and check me over. The moment the nurse’s hand came in contact with my skin, I switched the power on and instantly <em> knew </em> her. From her hair to her blood, from her bones to her teeth, I could even see her eyes and brain. </p><p>
  <em> Okay, so I can kind of zoom out, and there’s barely any pressure. Less detail. I can also focus… </em>
</p><p>Suddenly I could feel her heart, as though it was beating right beside me. I saw it beat normally as she said, “It looks like she did a really good job on you. That girl is amazing.” </p><p>Smiling, I joked, “Actually, would you believe I used to be a lot more muscular? You saw me before, right?”</p><p>“Sure, I remember.” Her voice said, but her <em> heart </em>...shuddered in an odd way. “You were ripped!”</p><p>
  <em> Nice of her to say, but there’s the lie I was looking for. Okay, point proven. Power off, for now. </em>
</p><p>I had taken the power for a very specific, very sad, very heartbreaking reason.</p><p>As dumb as it was, I sometimes worried about whether my parents were really there for me. It was an anxiety thing, and it didn’t make sense at the best of times. But with Amy’s power, I would know for sure. As much as it hurt my heart, I <em> had </em> to know for sure.</p><p>Because once I knew I could trust them completely, I could finally stop lying. I could be honest, and open up to them, and all it would take was one opportunity.</p><p>That was the real reason I was crying, actually. As I said that I was afraid that they’d hate me…</p><p>Mom touched my cheek. Dad put his hand on my left shoulder. George on my right.</p><p>They each told me that they loved me. That they didn’t hate me. That it would be okay.</p><p>For a brief moment, I felt <em> Body Understanding </em> flicker to each of their hearts. I saw inside them, and then I turned off the power. I felt a mix of both shame and relief.  </p><p>Because I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that they truly were there for me.</p><p>Still, the fact that I hadn’t trusted my own family to love me...</p><p>That just <em> broke </em> me.</p><p>***</p><p>After my tears were dried, I’d put my shirt on, and everyone was sitting down, we talked. Or rather, I talked. I had a lot to say, and for once I wasn’t letting it all rush out of me like water from a broken dam. In fact, I’d even made a few notes ahead of time, just to keep me on task. </p><p>The best part was, everyone seemed to realize how hard this was for me, so they gave me the floor. This was my time to speak, to explain, and to worry. No deflections from Dad, no smothering from Mom, and no escape for George. Phones off, eyes on me, and off we went.</p><p>
  <em> My fears are, like many things in my life, in three main categories. Okay, Greg, deep breath... </em>
</p><p>“I’m afraid of disappointing you.” I started, looking carefully at the blanket over my knees, as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. “I know that you say you’ll support me no matter what, but I also know that we live in different worlds. I’m into parahumans, fantasy, and fiction of all kinds. I used to make excuses, say it was because I found it all really cool and I could use it to escape from the real, boring, painful world...but that was a lie.”</p><p>
  <em> It was actually because it was the one thing that I knew better than anyone else in the family. </em>
</p><p>“It made me feel special, and with you guys I always felt like such a loser.” I sighed, and Mom started to say something, but I guess she stopped herself. “I mean, Mom is a multilingual booksmart Librarian, she knows Judo, can cook really well, and is so good at talking. Dad is a totally ripped doctor who has all these great jokes, amazing speaking skills, and can make friends just by talking to someone for a few minutes. As for George…”</p><p>I sighed, knowing how this was going to sound, hoping it didn’t wreck what I had with him.</p><p>“...George always seemed like the son you really wanted, like you only made me hoping to get another like him, but I screwed it up.” My voice caught, but I forced myself to press on in a high-pitched squeak. I had to get this out. “He’s a doctor like Dad, smart like Mom, he has the passion and motivation both of you had. He’s got a beautiful girlfriend, a bright future, and everyone is always telling me how great he is. Then they see me, and just...”</p><p>I went silent, wiping at my face again. It was no secret that I was the screw-up of the family, or at least that’s what I had always thought. They’d never said it, but it was always implied. </p><p>Maybe that was why I had identified with Amy so well, especially after talking to her. Her whole family was full of beautiful, strong, powerful people who could fly or shoot lasers, and yet she had none of that. She was small, skinny, had to touch people, and had no combat skills. </p><p>But just like Amy eventually opened up to her mother and it got a little better…</p><p>“That couldn’t be further from the truth, son.” Dad wasn’t laughing or smiling, and I looked up to see him staring down at his hands. He made a fist, and then shook his head. “In fact, I’m sorry, but that’s just total bullshit. You’re our son, and of course we love and support you, but more than that we’re aware that you’re going to make your own choices. Remember my Dad?”</p><p>
  <em> Of course, how could I forget? Dad hates Grandpa Veder, and Grandpa Veder hates him. </em>
</p><p>“Pop lost his leg about a year before I was born, and his football career ended. The old bastard pushed me so hard as a kid, wanting me to grow up to live his dreams for him.” Mom put a hand on Dad’s arm, and he slowly uncurled his big fist. “He said books were a distraction, chased my friends off, and did everything he could to keep me on track for the NFL. Then I met Sandra.”</p><p>“I told that old bastard off more than once, let me tell you.” Mom piped up, her eyes glittering maliciously. “He wouldn’t even help Stanley with college, so we had to live in someone else’s spare room to save money. We both worked part-time jobs. But it all paid off in the end.”</p><p>“She’s right, and all because I was brave enough to step out of my father’s shadow and off the path he’d set out for me. Which is why what you’re saying is so strange to me, Greg.” Dad leaned forward, taking my hand. I flicked Amy’s power back on, just for a few moments, even as I saw he was smiling again. “After all I went through with my dad, can’t you see why we’d want you to be your own person? Why would we ever be disappointed in you blazing your own trail?” </p><p>
  <em> I was wrong. They’re not disappointed in me...they’re actually proud? </em>
</p><p>“You are Gregory Veder,” my father intoned, squeezing my hand. “The only thing that would ever disappoint me would be if you tried to be anyone else, or if I tried to stand in your way.”</p><p>***</p><p>After taking a moment to center myself again, I moved on to the next item on my list.</p><p>“I always felt like you guys hated how much I sponged off you. Even though I’m almost sixteen, I basically depend on you for everything.” I started to count off my fingers, going through the main ones. “You make all my food, because I can’t cook. You gave me an allowance and bought everything for me, because I have no job skills. You cleaned up after me, because I was a messy, lazy child. You drive me everywhere, because I-”</p><p>I stopped, realizing I was just in a spiral of self-pity and shame, and I’d promised Amy I was going to stop doing that sort of thing. She had told me how it was so easy to just keep beating yourself up inside, something she knew both from books and her own experiences.</p><p>Mom took my silence as an invitation to disagree, reaching out to take my hand just as Dad had before her. Amy’s power came on again, and I teared up again.</p><p>“I can’t help but notice that you had a mix of present and past tense in there, and I think you know why.” I didn’t even have to see her face to know Mom was smiling proudly. “Yes, a month or two ago all of that might have been true, but not anymore. You’ve been keeping your room spotless for two weeks without prompting, doing your own laundry, taking the initiative on housework, and even worked with your brother to make some money in a way you enjoyed.”</p><p>
  <em> She’s right. I mean, I still can’t boil water without starting a fire, or drive, but...the other things... </em>
</p><p>“The fact is, I didn’t hate your brother back when he used to leave the toilet seat up. I didn’t hate your father when he spent all that money on those expensive stand-up comedy classes. I don’t hate any of you when I make a healthy meal and you decide to go out and get a pizza instead.” </p><p>Mom let out a little giggle as both of the other Veder men looked at her in mock surprise at that last one. I could feel her heart beating steady and strong, and knew that she meant it.</p><p>“But these past few weeks, we’ve seen you changing, Greg. You’ve been making a real effort, much of it by your own choice, and it makes us so proud of you. We could never hate you for being slow to get somewhere, because we know that you’re traveling at your own pace.” She leaned back, patting my hand. “Also, we know that you’ll get there eventually. Because we believe in you...and because we trust you.”</p><p>***</p><p>Finally, I moved to the last of my three biggest fears.</p><p>“I worry about my future. I mean, everyone does, but I think I worry more than most people.” I smiled as I said it, but couldn’t bring myself to look at them. I didn’t want to see my parents’ wrinkles, my brother’s ‘older than Greg’ appearance, or think about where they would be in ten years. “Someday, I’m going to grow up, George will leave, and you guys will…”</p><p>
  <em> Maybe I should leave that last one for another time. Mom and Dad are only in their 40s. </em>
</p><p>“I know that someday, George is going to move away, and I’ll lose the brother that I’ve finally started to reconnect with. It feels like we’ve been on opposite ends of the planet for years, but now we’re finally real brothers again...and any day now he could just up and leave.” </p><p>
  <em> Luckily he’s a medical researcher, so it’s not like he’s in danger. Still, it’s scary to think about. </em>
</p><p>Even with George’s hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing, I still felt like he was as insubstantial as a ghost. “Plus, it won’t be long before I finish high school, and have to go to college or get a job...and with what skills? My grades are great, but I’m barely skilled enough to flip burgers at Fugly Bob’s! I can’t compare to George! He’s too...perfect. I live in his shadow-”</p><p>George drew back, and I felt the cold air on my shoulder as his hand left it. I started to curl in on myself, worried that I had gone too far, screwed things up again, but then he surged forwards. It took me a moment to realize that he wasn’t choking me...he was hugging me. </p><p>“Greg, have you <em> met </em> me? I’m the furthest thing from perfect!” George laughed, and I felt it rumble in his chest as he rocked me back and forth. He drew back, looking at me, and this time he was the one with tears in his eyes. “I spent my first three years of highschool dreaming of being a baseball star, then crammed like crazy and barely got into college. Hell, I almost failed out a dozen times in freshman year!”</p><p>“What? That can’t be true!” My mouth dropped, and Amy’s power told me he was...honest?</p><p>“No, really! Do you know how embarrassed I was, having to come crawling back to Mom and Dad every weekend? Dad helped me study Math and Science, and Mom helped me with languages and History. I was a terrible student, until I started to step up and really focus.” Even I was smiling now, because instead of being angry or sad he was just...incredulous, I guess. “So don’t go putting me up on some pedestal! I’m a Veder, we make mistakes.”</p><p>“But the important thing is, we learn from them.” Dad chimed in, arm over Mom’s shoulder. Then he winked at me. “Or, if we don’t, then we keep failing in more and more hilarious ways.”</p><p>We all had a laugh at that one, and I felt a bit of the heaviness in my chest go away.</p><p>I released Amy’s power, because it had done its job. I knew the truth.</p><p>The rest was up to me.</p><p>***</p><p>After another hour of talking, I was feeling a lot better. Mom and Dad had told us a few more stories about their own childhoods. As much as I wanted to disbelieve them...well, I’d learned a long time ago that both would defend the veracity of these stories until their last breath. George even shared a few tales from his early college days, about meeting some wacky science students and even a few parahumans.</p><p>But before long I could see that visiting hours were nearly over, and I decided it was time to see if the final part of my plan could happen or not. I told them I had one more thing I wanted to talk about, but needed to go to the bathroom first. </p><p>I didn’t actually need to go, and instead sat on the toilet and took a slow breath in and out...then thought about something scary.</p><p>
  <em> Okay. If I out myself to my parents...will they hate me? Will they be disappointed? They… </em>
</p><p>I felt my heart speed up. I felt my breathing shift. I felt nervous, afraid, and worried.</p><p>But as if there was a limiter in place now, it didn’t go all the way to <em> Full Panic Attack </em>. Sure, I felt like my heart was going to leap out of my chest, and my throat was a little sore from breathing so hard (and crying earlier), but this was better than it had been.</p><p>
  <em> Looks like Amy, Hobson, and GstringGirl were right. Talking really helped. I just had to go slow. </em>
</p><p>After going through one of the exercises Amy had taught me, I carefully stood on shaky legs and reached for the phone on the bathroom wall. There was no going back...I had to be brave.</p><p>A few minutes later, after flushing and pretending to wash my hands, I returned to my bed. I spent a minute mostly wasting time, just giving them time to-</p><p>
  <em> KNOCK-KNOCK </em>
</p><p>Dad opened the door, and then smiled as PRT Special Investigators Kalpin and Hobson entered. Both had met my parents a few days earlier when looking into the incident at Winslow. After a few moments though, the door was closed again and all five of them were seated and looking at me expectantly.</p><p>My bathroom experiment had shown me that while I was still nervous, scared, worried, and deeply afraid of the future...my fear was no longer pushing it all into overdrive. No, I now knew that they had my back, and would support me no matter what. Not just from using Amy’s power, but from the last hour of finally being honest with them.</p><p>
  <em> Which means it’s time for one more truth. The one I can’t keep to myself anymore. </em>
</p><p>“Mom, Dad, George?” I started, smiling nervously at them, noting both Kalpin and Hobson nodding at me from the side. “There’s one more thing I need to say. Something that I’ve been hiding from you because I was scared. But now...now I’m less scared. I need to say it.”</p><p>I cut myself off, wiping my hand down the side of my face and shaking my head.</p><p>“I’ve been dealing with it for weeks, trying to make it work on my own, because I was so afraid. But I can’t do this alone anymore.” I looked up at them, seeing faces that weren’t suspicious, angry, or afraid. Just strong, determined, and caring. My heart was racing, my breath making me hiccup, my mind wandering, but I wasn’t going to stop this time! I had to say it! “I’m…”</p><p>
  <em> I know they’re not disappointed. I know they don’t hate me. I know they’ll support me. I know it! </em>
</p><p>“I’m...a parahuman.”</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> After all the buildup, the worry, the fear. After tearing myself apart mentally and physically… </em>
</p><p>“I’m so proud of you, son.” “My brother, the hero!” “Of course he’s a hero, he’s a Veder!”</p><p>I think I was the only one <em> not </em> crying (aside from Kalpin and Hobson), as all three of my family members took turns asking me questions and hugging me. George seemed a lot less surprised than the other two, but then again he’d probably compartmentalized it weeks ago.</p><p>After we’d all settled down, Hobson began to go over the nitty gritty of things, handing out a variety of documents, folders full of forms, and pamphlets to everyone. We had talked about this earlier in the day, when I’d called them after Amy left, and I had floated the idea of doing it either today or sometime this week. I wondered how long they’d been carrying these forms around.</p><p>Even after I gave a few vague details on my abilities, Mom and Dad immediately started telling the PRT that they weren’t just going to snap me up and throw me into a warzone. I think George even said that he would die before they “threw my brother at an Endbringer.”</p><p>The two of them calmly waited, then put a lot of our fears to rest. In Kalpin’s words, “We’re not just going to slap a costume on him and toss him at Lung. Greg needs a lot of paperwork, we need to go through a lot of hoops, and there’s a mountain of stupid paperwork in our future.”</p><p>“Yes, my ever-erudite partner is correct. We’ve come to know Gregory over the past few weeks, and would never knowingly put him at risk. We owe him too much for that.” He winked at me, deliberately not explaining how I’d smashed a locked door with my body to save their lives. “Not only does he need to go through training, but there are several briefings and interviews ahead with the PRT, Youth Guard, and others. It will be several weeks, at the least.”</p><p>“But what about his actual powers?” George asked, looking at me and tapping my shoulder. It didn’t escape my notice the way he gave me a small smile, or that the spot he was tapping was where I’d gotten a huge bruise a few weeks ago. “Shouldn’t he get power testing? Maybe train with other parahuman teens? I mean, you guys are recruiting him into the Wards, right?”</p><p>Both agents looked at each other, looked at me, and then answered after I’d given a nod. “After talking to Gregory earlier, we agreed that it might be best to ease into this as slowly as possible. Not only has he just had a brush with death, but his life is undergoing several major changes. To whit, I am recommending that he speak to a PRT-approved therapist before any recruitment.”</p><p>“Yeah, I mean...seeing a therapist makes the most sense to me.” I guess they must have been a little surprised to hear me saying that, because all three of my family members just stared at me with a mix of confusion, worry, and pride on their faces. “The past few weeks, I really made a lot of progress after talking to Taylor’s Dad, some other kids, Ren, and Panacea. But what I need is someone who actually has a degree of some kind, knows parahumans, and I can trust.”</p><p>“That’s a very mature way to look at it, Greg.” Dad nodded, grinning at Mom. “Don’t worry, I have a friend who can help you out there. He’s PRT-approved, and his practice is right here in town. I’ll call him tonight, he still owes us for a prank he pulled back when I was in medical school.”</p><p>Though it sounded like there was a story there, my body finally gave up on me at that point and I let out a huge jaw-cracking yawn. Everyone laughed over that, and soon the five of them were heading out the door. Handshakes came from Kalpin and Hobson, hugs from my family, and then...I was alone.</p><p><em> Except that I’m not alone anymore, am I? I have my family, the PRT, and more </em>.</p><p>Before I knew it, I was asleep.</p><p>***</p><p>“Arcadia?” I stared at the folder Mom had handed me, and Dad nodded vigorously as he maneuvered the car out of the hospital parking lot. “How did that happen?”</p><p>“Winslow is going through a ‘transition period,’ as they put it.” I could hear the quotes in Dad’s voice, and he grimaced. “It was part of the settlement. You got hurt on their watch, and it was easier for them to just shuttle you off to a new school along with a few dozen other kids. Of course, some of them were just moving because their rich parents saw what a shithole Winslow was and pulled them out...but hey, sometimes collateral damage is good.”</p><p>“Right, well, your father’s colorful phrasing aside, you’ll be starting this week. It’ll just be an introductory week for placement and getting used to things.” Mom looked back over the seat at me, taking in my shocked expression. “It’s a fresh start, honey. Plus, between the PRT paying for your hospital bill and our lawsuit against the Barnes and North families, we won’t pay a dime. New friends, new opportunities, and better security.”</p><p>
  <em> Better security thanks to the money and the Wards...crap, the Wards! This will be...interesting. </em>
</p><p>Interesting was certainly a word for it. They had all seen my face only a week or two ago, and I’d treated them like crap thanks to a terrible blend of powers making me an honest asshole. Now I was going to meet them in person, civilian to civilian. I just had to hope they were the forgiving sort, and not mad at me for getting their teammate in trouble.</p><p>Although, that made me think of Sophia again. What she had said to me, just before the Locker stuff went down. How I didn’t need to make excuses, and that if I wanted to help kids who were being bullied at Winslow...I should have just done it. I didn’t need powers, I just needed Greg.</p><p>I was quiet the rest of the ride home, flipping between the packet of Arcadia paperwork and the Wards paperwork...wondering if Arcadia was really the right choice. By the time I got home, I still didn’t have an answer.</p><p>My parents must have noticed how withdrawn I was, because they told me to stay home. Both left to go to church and then hit the grocery store. Neither had really eaten much at home all week, so we were down to soda and microwave food in the fridge.</p><p>I plopped down on the couch, still reading the Arcadia paperwork, wondering what my life was going to become. It seemed like everything was still moving so fast. I was going to see a therapist, my parents knew I had powers, my family supported me, and the PRT had my back. </p><p>Taylor had name-dropped me on live TV, had worked with Sophia to save my life, I’d met Amy, and so many people had urged her to help me. I even had people like Allen, who I’d barely done more than have lunch with months ago, suddenly leaping to my defense and saying I had inspired him. I really needed to thank him...to thank all of them.</p><p>The first thing I was going to do was log onto PHO. George had sent an email to GstringGirl for me, and I knew she was probably-</p><p>
  <em> KNOCK-KNOCK </em>
</p><p>Carefully standing, I moved to the front door and started to open it up.</p><p>
  <em> It’s probably just a neighbor, or a solicitor? Maybe even one of those door-to-door...oh... </em>
</p><p>Standing on the other side of my door was not a neighbor or a solicitor.</p><p>It was Taylor Hebert.</p><p>********************</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg and Taylor’s explosive reunion. Time to hash things out, talk about what broke them apart and brought them back together, and learn that memory is a fickle beast. Finally, find out why I referred to their reunion as “explosive.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: While it’s true treatment for anxiety and panic attacks are not this fast in reality, reality doesn’t have Parahuman powers to speed things up. Greg’s biggest fear was that his family wasn’t entirely honest with him, and Amy’s power let him see they 100% were. Though he still has anxiety, and a lot of therapy ahead, this was what he needed for a leap of faith.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. 2.12: Dealing with Regrets</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I got your email! So glad that you’re okay, but you better have a heck of a story.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I mean, take your time telling it, but really, you sure know how to worry someone.</p><p><b>GstringGirl:</b> Let’s chat Monday morning, okay? I want to hear everything! Well, lots of stuff.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Either way, we’ve got so much to catch up on.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Not just the fanfic, but that one game you recommended turned out really good.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I don’t really like the characters, but the controls are customizable like crazy.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I’m glad you were thinking of me, finding a game like that.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>I also found a few really nice people online to teach me to play, so watch out!</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Anyway, I have to go. But you hurry up and get better soon!</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>If you don’t, I might have to have one of my new online friends come after you.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>j/k, Mars seems really nice, I’m sure she’ll just pwn you in a deathmatch.</p><p><b>GstringGirl: </b>Talk to you soon, dude. Feel better!</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, January 9, 2011]</b>
</p><p>With far more effort that it should have taken, I opened the front door.</p><p>I stared at Taylor, standing on my doorstep with her arms around herself, and my mind raced.</p><p>
  <em> What do I even say? “Glad I was able to open the door for you this time?” Or maybe... </em>
</p><p>“So...are you going to invite me in, or what?” Taylor asked, peering past me into the house. It was cold enough that she was breathing steam, and it didn’t look like her jacket was really made for long-term exposure to the outdoors. “It’s pretty cold out, actually.”</p><p>“Oh...oh!” I stumbled backwards, trying to turn it into a gentle gesture and coming off more like I was play-acting as a courtier. She just smiled and shook her head, entering Casa de Veder for what was probably the first time ever. If the less-than-perfect appearance (Mom and Dad had stopped cleaning the whole time I was in the hospital) bugged her, she didn’t say so. “Yeah, sorry about that. I was just surprised to see you here. I...uh...last time we saw each other…”</p><p>
  <em> I was dying on the floor, you were giving me mouth-to-mouth...no! Don’t think about that. </em>
</p><p>“Well, maybe the last time you saw me, sure.” She moved into the living room, putting her coat on the couch and sitting down next to where I’d been a few minutes earlier. “I actually came to see you in the...um, hospital. But you were still in a coma, and I left my number and then I just got a call from them that you were discharged…”</p><p>She trailed off, and I realized I’d left the door open and was still holding it. I was still getting used to the idea that she’d walked all the way from her house (which I now knew was 0.6 miles away) to mine. Also that she was just sitting in my house, on my couch, and I was staring at her.</p><p>She was staring back at me. Forcing myself to look away, I closed the door and locked it. </p><p>Then I worried if that came off as ‘locking her in with me’ and unlocked it. </p><p>Then I mentally punched myself and locked it again.</p><p>“Would you like something warm to drink?” I asked, heading to the kitchen. Ours was a kitchen with a chest-high wall between it and the living/dining room, so I was able to see her nodding. She didn’t say anything, so I just put some powdered hot chocolate in two mugs and stirred, then started up the microwave. It was the absolute limit of my cooking skill. “Great, just a sec.”</p><p>Exactly two minutes later, we were both sitting around the coffee table blowing on steaming mugs, and trying to find some way to speak. I wanted to ask why she was here without making it sound like an accusation, and I wasn’t even sure what she wanted to ask. We’d each look up, make eye contact, look back down, blow on our cocoa, take a sip, and repeat.</p><p>
  <em> Dear god, I’m trapped in an awkward teenage movie. Maybe if I make smalltalk? </em>
</p><p>“So, you’re going to Arcadia too?” Apparently Taylor was using the same playbook I was, because she beat me to it. Good thing, too, because I was about to ask about the weather. I glanced up from my simply captivating mug to see that she was holding up the Arcadia paperwork I’d left on the table. “They moved a whole bunch of us, guess it makes sense to get all the problem kids out at the same time as the rich kids. Maybe even a new Ward, too.”</p><p>To cover up my nerves over that last part (and the fact that I was that new Ward), I shrugged and replied with the first thing on my mind, “Well, maybe I won’t go to Arcadia. I haven’t really decided yet. I might just stay at Winslow.”</p><p>“What?” Taylor snapped, slamming the paperwork down on the coffee table and glaring at me. “Are you joking? Do you know how dangerous that is? What the hell is the matter with you?”</p><p>
  <em> Whoops. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>I had a quick flashback of Taylor screaming and blasting her way out of her locker, and had to actually check and make sure she...nope, not a parahuman. Just really mad.</p><p>“Okay, so maybe that came out wrong.” I held up my hands, and Taylor’s hackles went down a little. She still looked annoyed, but at least wasn’t giving off ‘locker explosion’ vibes anymore. “What I’m saying is that with Emma and the others gone, I was thinking it was an opportunity to step up. I always wanted to do something about the bullies, but always made excuses about being too small, weak, and unpopular...and now I can see that all I really needed-”</p><p>“You talked to Sophia, didn’t you?” Taylor asked the question, but didn’t even wait for an answer before barreling on. “Yeah, when she was faking being friends with Emma and I, she said something like that to me as well. Asked me why I never fought back before, and I said it was because I was so weak, and tired, and thought it wouldn’t solve anything. She got real mad.”</p><p>
  <em> I remember, she said the same thing when I started getting down on myself. How did it go? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Anyone can be strong, but only weak people make excuses about lacking something! You want to fight? Fight! You want to help people? Help people! But don’t pretend to be weak. Be Greg! </em>
</p><p>“Have to admit, it was a good pep-talk.” I laughed, then stopped as she began to glare again. “I mean, she was still a violent bully, a bitch at the best of times, and all-around terrible...but she did have good advice. She said all that to me a half hour or so before it all went down.”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m not sure what her deal was.” Taylor shook her head, gathering her hair up and pushing it behind her head. “On the bus that morning she had this whole cool hypothetical about parahumans, and was really fun to talk to...but then Emma reveals it was all part of some evil plan. Now I hear Sophia’s going off to Juvie or a mental hospital or something, and I just…”</p><p>“I know.” We both went quiet, reflecting upon the violently confusing creature that had been Sophia Hess. “At the same time, she also helped you save my life. Am I just thinking better of her because she helped keep me from dying in front of your locker?”</p><p>“Maybe. But either way, I don’t think you should give up on a fresh start at Arcadia just on the tiny hope that you can stop a few bullies at Winslow. Gift horse in the mouth and all that. Plus, they’ll give us all lockers near each other, so we can stick together.” She smiled, and I nodded as her point finally got through to me. This was a chance to start over. “Oh, by the way, thanks for helping me bust out of that locker.”</p><p>“I think it was mostly you. I just stuffed my noodly hand in and pulled a little.” I held up the hand in question, thankfully restored by Panacea. “I mean, it was pretty badass, the way you broke out of your locker and knocked Emma the fuck out.”</p><p>“Yeah, well she’d had that coming for a long time. She’s off to the crazy house for the next several years. Maybe she’ll learn to be a good friend, or at least how to say she’s sorry.”</p><p>
  <em> Wow, I couldn’t ask for a better segue than that. Okay, here we go. </em>
</p><p>“Speaking of which…Taylor, I’m so, so sorry.” I sighed, having beaten around the bush for way too long. I had said almost everything I wanted to, but I couldn’t put this off any longer. “I could have done more to stop the locker thing. I should have listened to you about Emma before Winter Break. I never tried to stop your bullying, or fought back against any of it. I’ve messed up just about every interaction we’ve ever had...all the way back to Junior High. It’s all my fault.”</p><p>Taylor stared at me for a moment, then put her face in her hands and groaned.</p><p>
  <em> That was not the reaction I expected. </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>“You...you…you think you...” Taylor tried to speak several times, massaging her temples, then she took a few deep breaths and shook her head. “Greg, you don’t need to be sorry for most of that. Especially not the Junior High stuff!”</p><p>I decided to put a pin in that last part, and instead focused on something closer to the present. “What the hell are you talking about? I just stood there and watched them bully you, tease you, and ruin your stuff! I tried to get help a few times at first, then gave up! I should’ve told-”</p><p>“Who would you have told? Blackwell wasn’t listening, the teachers just ignored it, and like you said, the first few times you tried it didn’t do anything.” She just sounded...tired. Maybe the fact that it was in the past made it easier to talk about. “If you’d fought back, they’d have made your life hell the same as mine. I don’t blame you for being afraid, Greg. You’re only human.”</p><p>“I still could have done more. Recorded it, told my own parents, called the…” I trailed off, remembering my attempt to be ‘strong’ a week ago. Blackwell had ignored me on the word of a teenager and her friends. The police had ignored me because it was just teenagers. “I…”</p><p>
  <em> And when I took matters into my own hands, I got beaten down and hospitalized. She’s right. </em>
</p><p>“Look, I won’t say that I didn’t kind of hate you sometimes, seeing you just stand there and watch me get tormented, but looking back now I can’t really blame you.” She got up and walked around to my side of the coffee table. Before I could react, she had sat down next to me and put her mug next to mine. “I was scared, and so were you. We were just kids, all alone.” </p><p>“We’re not alone anymore, though. People are listening. The news is telling the story.”</p><p>“Yeah, and thanks to my lawyer and Dad double-teaming me, I’m even...talking to someone about everything. About feeling powerless.” She made a fist, lightly punching her leg. “But they keep reminding me that I’m only fifteen. That I can’t get mad at myself for being a teenager. I...can’t blame you for acting like a teenager, because I did too. I’m sorry for-”</p><p>“You don’t have anything to be sorry for!” I realized I was glaring at her, then turned away and looked down at my hands again. A week ago, one had been so mangled that it didn’t even move, and now it was fine. But I still felt like it was messed up, sort of. “You were the one getting bullied, I was just watching and doing nothing. You were the one who needed help, not me.”</p><p>“You were getting bullied too though, weren’t you? I remember seeing it, all the time.” Her hand came down on mine, resting on my formerly-ruined hand. </p><p>I slowly looked up to see Taylor staring at me intently. I normally would have stuttered, said something dumb, or ruined the moment. But in this case, I was too busy thinking that this was the first time we’d held hands...since…</p><p>Since the day we met.</p><p>***</p><p>About a month into Junior High, I had made a reputation for myself as a very passionate kid who loved capes and talking. My problem was that in elementary school it had been perfectly fine to just walk up to other kids and join in their conversation. The same could not be said for this strange new Junior High world I found myself in. Here, that sort of thing was verboten.</p><p>Thus, as we were all outside on the track one day pretending to run (and really just grouping up to chat), I overheard two boys talking about who would win in a fight...Armsmaster or Hookwolf. They seemed to agree that it would be the latter, so I set out to correct them.</p><p>A minute later, I was on the ground, having been knocked over by someone who obviously spent far more time exercising than reading up on parahumans like me. His friend was happy to stand just right to block the PE Teacher from seeing us. I was also crying, if I recall.</p><p>Then one of the boys was on the ground with me, and I looked up to see a tall girl standing there. She was angry, really letting loose on the one who was still standing, calling him a bully. Her hair flapped behind her in the breeze, like the cape of a hero, and I stared in awe. </p><p>Unfortunately, that hair proved her undoing, as the second boy grabbed it, throwing her to the ground. She landed on top of me, and both of the boys ran off laughing.</p><p>The girl got up, brushed herself off, and then reached down to help me up. I took her hand, using my other to wipe my tears, and then got embarrassed when I realized a cute girl was holding my hand. She must have picked up on that, because she started talking.</p><p>She complimented my Miss Militia shirt, making me smile. In return, I told her that her Armsmaster jacket was really cool. We started to walk around the track, our time on the ground forgotten, and spent the rest of the period talking about our shared love of all things parahuman. </p><p>But, as with all things Greg Veder, eventually I started to talk way too damn much. I started to get out of breath, and saw that she was speeding up as well to keep up with me. She started to look around, then suddenly waved at her friend Emma and wished me a good day. </p><p>She ran off, and I cursed myself for being...well, myself.</p><p>In the months that followed, I kept trying to hang out with her, talk to her, be her friend. But every time, she’d always spot Emma and leave. I even asked her out once, thinking that as a pair of cape geeks we’d be a great pair, but she turned me down. Even though I knew we’d never be more than friends, I couldn’t even get that right...and soon she was avoiding me entirely.</p><p>Then high school came, and I could only watch as she was put through hell. The friend who used to protect her was now tormenting her. I stood there and watched, and felt like trash.</p><p>Still, I never forgot that first day. When I had made a friend, even if it was only for an hour.</p><p>Taylor had stood up for me, given me her hand, and helped me up.</p><p>***</p><p>I realized that she was talking, and brought myself back into the present.</p><p>“I’d see you go into the bathroom, when I was hiding out in the stairwell, and then a bunch of boys would come out laughing. A minute later, you’d come out the door, soaked and crying.” Taylor moved her hand to my shoulder, and I forced myself to look down so she wouldn’t see how embarrassed I was. “I never said anything to anyone, I never approached you and tried to help. So how can I get mad at you for not wanting to shoulder my problems too?”</p><p>“But I mean, w-we could have gone through it together.” I knew how dumb it sounded, but I said it anyway. It was so sappy and dumb, so stupid and naive, but I still felt like it might have helped. “We could have had each other’s backs, and gotten through it better knowing we weren’t alone.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess that might have been nice, kind of like in Junior High, huh?”</p><p>“Well, without me screwing it up this time, anyway.” I tried to smile at her, but saw that she looked confused. Of <em> course </em> she didn’t remember that. Here I was ruining a moment with some little blip in her memory that I’d internalized as some big inspiring moment. “N-never mind, I was just thinking about this time when I was getting bullied in PE-”</p><p>“-and I came in and shoved the kid who was making fun of you. Yeah, I remember, but what do you mean <em> you </em> screwed it up? I was the one who ruined things that day, remember?”</p><p>
  <em> Great, now she’s just trying to take pity on me and pretend it was her. I can’t let her do that! </em>
</p><p>“No, you really don’t have to do that, Taylor.” I shook my head, the moment as clear as if it was yesterday. I turned to face her, so I could gesture and set the scene. “After they ran off, we started talking. But I got all excited and started going a hundred miles an hour at you. So it was okay, the way you ran off to be with Emma, and then after that you’d have her nearby like a safety line to save you from me. I know-”</p><p>“That’s not what happened at all!” Taylor was aghast, looking at me as if I’d just accused her of murder. Her face was bright red, and she had both hands over it as if trying to hide from me. </p><p>“Oh my god, have you really been thinking...this whole time? No! <em> Greg, I was lying </em>!”</p><p>“What? Lying about what?”</p><p>“About Emma.” Taylor was now the one staring down at her lap, babbling faster and faster. “She hated to go outside at lunch and always skipped Gym, so I always just...used her as an excuse. After those kids ran off, we started talking and I saw how out of breath you were getting because of me. Emma used to call me a motormouth back then, so I lied about seeing her and ran off. I did that a lot, not just with you, because I was so embarrassed. It wasn’t your fault...”</p><p>She trailed off, and now that I thought about it, there really had been a few times she had said Emma was nearby and I hadn’t seen the redhead. I’d always assumed Taylor was saying that just to avoid me or keep from hurting my feelings. </p><p>“When I went to camp, before starting Winslow, I practiced slowing down and talking less. It was easier because there were only a few girls in my cabin and I didn’t want to spook them.” She smiled, and I wondered what sort of adventures she’d had at camp. The smile faded though, as she added, “Then I came back and...well, Emma happened.”</p><p>I just nodded, and we were both quiet again.</p><p>After a moment, I got an idea, and held out my hand. “Taylor?”</p><p>“Yeah, Greg?” </p><p>“Can we start over? Lockers and motormouths and bullies and hospitals and all aside?”</p><p>She grabbed my hand, squeezing it lightly, as a wide smile split her face.</p><p>How could I do anything but smile back?</p><p>***</p><p>After that, we almost turned back into the people we’d been in Junior high, launching into a huge discussion about parahumans. I’d been out of commission for a week, so there was all kinds of cape news to catch me up on. Pretty soon she was talking about PHO news, trying to act out videos, and I held up a hand. I suggested that we could do this better.</p><p>To speed things up (since the new phone Danny had bought her was tiny), I invited her up to my room and we used my computer. My screen was pretty big, and once she’d logged into her PHO account she was bringing up saved videos and pictures to get me up to speed.</p><p>Probably the coolest one was a huge battle between Uber, Leet, and that Bomb Tinker from Boston, Bakuda. She was using this cool turret-style grenade launcher and running all around the battlefield tossing what looked like magnet bombs and ice bombs. Meanwhile, Leet was dressed as the Demoman from <em> Team Fortress 2 </em> and Uber was bouncing around in a rubbery red suit like some kind of… <em> ’Splosion Man </em>. The fight seemed evenly matched…</p><p>“-and then look here, where the video slows down.” Taylor pointed at my screen, tapping a few keys on my keyboard to slowly advance the video. “Bakuda was on the ground and pulled out some big glass beaker attached to a grenade, Uber bounced up and then fired himself down at her, and Leet was like ‘oh shit grenade’ and tried to jump on Bakuda!”</p><p>Then the video feed cut out. </p><p>“What?” I jumped off my bed, looking from the screen to Taylor, and noted the way she was typing again. “What, what happened?”</p><p>“That’s what everyone else was saying!” She muttered, bringing up a different page. It looked like a press release of some kind. “There’s even a fifty-page long PHO thread where they were convinced that someone had hacked the feed. But it turns out that the bomb Bakuda had was a combo of an electromagnetic pulse and some kind of strange new chemical or drug.”</p><p>“So it killed the Snitch?”</p><p>“Yep, it killed the Snitch.” She nodded, and pointed at the screen. “PRT picked all three up, and we all figured they’d just pop up again on trial...but then word came from the hospital that things were a lot worse than that.”</p><p>I read the press release, noting a few points that jumped out at me. Like: <em> Unknown drug causing euphoric state, synapses disrupted by Tinkertech, </em> and... <em> persistent vegetative state </em>. </p><p>“Wait, they’re all in comas?”</p><p>“Well, they were a few days ago. We’re not really sure anymore.” She flipped to another article, this one with a blurry picture on it. “A few days ago, just after Bakuda’s family told them to pull the plug, some guy broke into the hospital and stole all three of their bodies. Took off in a tricked out van, so they think he was a Tinker of some kind...well, that and a mechanical arm he had.”</p><p>“Wasn’t there a Brute with arms and legs made of rusted metal or something?” I scratched my head, puzzled on why he’d pull a job like this. “Any idea why he’d want their bodies?”</p><p>“Well, I do have this theory…” Taylor grinned and started to load up another website, pointing at the screen. “I know this sounds crazy, but here’s what I’m thinking...”</p><p>***</p><p>Our conversation went through several other topics, and at one point I even gave her an impromptu tour of my room and house. I was deeply glad I had cleaned up my room and organized my collection, because now I just looked like a fan dedicated to a few heroes instead of some kind of...hoarder. She even complimented me on my awesome new jacket!</p><p>In turn, I complimented her on her interview, and she admitted how nervous she’d been. But it was something she had dreamed about for so long, to get the truth out there. Trying to lighten the mood, I poked some fun at her kind words about Allen, and asked if there was something between them. For some reason that made her burst out laughing, and then change the subject.</p><p>As we walked back down to the living room, we were talking about our favorite heroes. She was still a hardcore Armsmaster fangirl, and I still couldn’t decide between Eidolon, Miss Militia, and Assault. Taylor just shrugged it off, saying that there was no need to choose just one. </p><p>Then we reached the door, and started that ever-awkward teenage dance of leaving. I didn’t want her to go, but knew that it wasn’t really my choice. Plus, we were starting fresh and I wanted to keep today in her mind as a good experience. Just because I was more confident didn’t mean that I didn’t have the same anxiety and worry about being too <em> Greg </em> for people.</p><p>Luckily (or maybe unluckily), she was going through some of the same mental hoops. I saw her start to speak, opening her mouth, and then clamp it shut again when I widened my eyes. </p><p>She reached in my direction, as if she was going to hug me or shake my hand, and then turned it into the fakest stretch I had ever seen.</p><p>Luckily, someone else came to our rescue.</p><p>“Greg! We’re home!” I heard a muffled voice call out, as well as a key in the lock.</p><p>
  <em> Saved by the parents! </em>
</p><p>Almost as if we’d both been frozen by Clockblocker’s power, we snapped into action. Taylor walked to the couch and busied herself with putting on her jacket, and I cleaned up our mugs in the sink. By the time she was ready for the outdoors and I was coming back from the kitchen, we could both see my parents in the doorway with bags of groceries.</p><p>“Were we...interrupting anything, you two?” Dad smiled, and Mom elbowed him. It was the same sort of smile I’d seen on Danny’s face, and we both avoided looking directly at it. “Maybe your friend would like to stay over for dinner?”</p><p>Unfortunately, Taylor could not stay over for dinner. She told us that Danny had started cooking meals with her almost every night, and she had promised to pick up some ingredients on the way home. We had a quick goodbye handshake/high-five thing that made us both laugh, and then just exchanged numbers so we could talk more <em> without my parents staring at us </em>.</p><p>They didn’t even apologize, but did admit that they’d met Taylor at the hospital when she’d come to visit me. They told me she seemed like a <em> very nice girl </em> and that her father <em> was incredibly polite </em>. The way they kept looking at each other as they said it annoyed me a bit, but…</p><p>Well, parents, you know?</p><p>***</p><p>That night, Mom and Dad reminded me that I was grounded from using my computer for anything other than schoolwork for a week. Apparently the whole ‘tried to infiltrate the ABB and maybe fought Lung’ thing was worth a grounding. They didn’t care that they’d <em> already punished me for it once </em>, but I guess I got off light all things considered. </p><p>At the same time, they didn’t take my computer and phone away this time, saying they trusted me more. Both even gave me the okay to chat with GstringGirl for a little, but suggested I save it for tomorrow. When they saw her reply to George’s email, both agreed it would be wrong of me to avoid her any longer than I had to. Why I ever thought they didn’t love me was beyond me.</p><p>Doing it tonight was out of my hands anyway, because whatever Amy had done to me had me exhausted. The pile of food I’d had (three servings, plus dessert) made the decision for me. </p><p>
  <em> Hmm, wonder if I could have asked her to help me get in shape? Nah, that would be too easy. </em>
</p><p>Chuckling to myself as I brushed my teeth, I shook my head at the thought of just having Amy “fix” me like that. Every time in the last month I’d tried to use powers to take shortcuts, it had blown up in my face. No, if I was going to get stronger and smarter, I would do it myself.</p><p>But as I was getting ready to turn my computer off, I noticed that Taylor’s PHO account was still logged in on my PC. I chuckled at her name, wondering if it had been her father or mother that had inspired it, and then paused as I saw she’d just sent a message out an hour ago.</p><p><em> Huh, she sent me a friend request. Well, she did see my login before. Guess that makes sense. </em> </p><p>I quickly logged in, accepted it, and then fired off a message to GstringGirl that I was back, exhausted, and would be online tomorrow morning to catch up. Then I turned my computer off, crawled into bed, and felt myself drift off.</p><p>It had been an amazing day, and I knew I would have amazing dreams.</p><p>Tomorrow would be even better.</p><p>********************</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Well, the heroes have come together and are stronger for it. How about the villains? Next time, let’s have one last Interlude for Arc 2 as we see why a “guy with a metal arm” was stealing bodies, the crazy life that led him to this point...and beyond!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Interlude 9: Starting Over</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[As a Child, I wanted to grow up]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents named me Lei Wang, after a kid who became a champion Go player at age 12.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, I grew up in the Homecrest neighborhood in Brooklyn, so there was seemingly no glory in my future. I had a few older brothers, a younger sister, and parents who never really had enough time for all of us. We were one of the few Asian families in town, and not exactly rich or popular enough to stick in anyone’s mind. I went to school, I read books, and I was all around average as far as kids went...if a bit on the small side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I played games with other kids...by which I mean that they’d fetch me when they needed a small kid to climb into the storm drain and get the ball. Sometimes they’d even let me play with them afterwards, but I was never invited from the start. I never had time to make friends, because my parents were barely scraping by and all of us had to pitch in to help put food on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>See, my parents didn’t own a chain of dry cleaners like the Chang family, or run a high-end massage parlor like Hoshi’s parents. Nah, we were a family of handymen, low-pay engineers, and cleaners. Not even the cool kind of cleaners like in the movies, just the boring kind that dealt with vomit, dirt, and dust. Something a kid could do, if you catch my drift. It was crap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But running away from home wouldn’t have helped, and I loved my family too much to do that to them. So instead I just saved my money, picked up all the skills I could, and dreamed of the day when I could start over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someday, Lei Wang would be a name everyone knew. I just had to grow up, fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[As a Teenager, I wanted to escape]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Wang, how’s it hanging?” One of my classmates laughed, and I did my best to ignore him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a week since we took Sex Ed, and the teacher went through a section on slang. Suddenly, my last name (technically my first name, but not in the US) was the funniest thing ever. Nobody ever noticed me before, but now the teacher couldn’t call roll without some dumbass laughing his head off about a kid named Wang. Telling them my name was Lei didn’t help, because a couple girls got in on the act and said I was named after a flower necklace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From there, they moved into other words, and pretty soon I was being bullied all the time. It went on for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet somehow they were all surprised at the start of Junior year, when I beat the crap out of a group of them at lunch. I had spent the whole summer working out, carrying heavy boxes for Grandpa Jiang, and learning to box from Little Cho...and I was sick of the racism. They had stolen the lunch I’d cooked and brought from home, replaced it with a bag of fortune cookies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I got expelled, but it was okay because I had no future there. My grades were average, I was short, and I couldn’t afford college. My parents were mad, but I’d given up on them months ago. I had told them about the bullying, but they’d just replied that there was no point in making a fuss. That I didn’t want a reputation as a kid who couldn’t ‘take a joke.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They just said that I should keep my head down, be respectful, and soldier on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Funny, the way they said soldier. It was what inspired me to leave home, and become a soldier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not the military kind, though. I’d heard there was a dragon in Brockton Bay, recruiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was going to join the fight against the same kids who had gotten me expelled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d escape to start over in the ABB, and make a name for myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[In the ABB, I wanted recognition]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“You all did well today.” Lung dismissed us, then pointed at me. “You. With the gun. Stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I quietly approached him as everyone else left to hit the casino, get drunk, or slack off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have done well.” Lung said simply, eyeing my gun. “You stand out among the rabble.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, the gun was a fairly recent addition to my repertoire, so it kind of annoyed me that that was the first place his eyes went. I did a lot to stand out, and this was just the latest in a long line of attempts to be more than just another face in the ABB crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d been with them for almost four years when I started noticing that only certain people were getting promoted from Thug to Lieutenant. By that time I’d picked up some new language skills, filled out into a buff beast, and even made a living on the side working as a handyman. Dad might actually have been proud, if he’d returned any of my calls or letters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I still sent them money every week, just under a different name. No return address, and I claimed to be a man named Egg Shen, since I knew my parents didn’t watch movies. Still, I wanted to do more for Lung, get promoted, have more opportunities to grow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in order to get promoted, you had to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you had to stick out in people’s brains as more than just another faceless minion. My language skills and first aid knowledge were great, sure...but they weren’t leader material. I had to look the part, create a whole new persona!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started using an exaggerated Brooklyn accent. I went nuts with safety and concern for my fellow gang members. It took a few months, but I even managed to get a whole crew of a couple dozen guys to sing my praises...all natural because I was always there for them. Finally, a few weeks ago, I’d picked up a huge gun and practiced at the range regularly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had yet to shoot anyone or anything, but that was no reason to be ignorant of gun safety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure ting, Boss.” I replied, throwing an easy smile his way. “Happy ta make ya proud.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hrm.” He grunted back at me, then gestured at a map on the wall. “You will assist in the creation of a new Workshop I am building, for a Tinker I intend to recruit in one month. Tell nobody of this. That suitcase will fund you, and I will come check on it in 28 days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem, Boss.” I took the case and map, already having plans in my head for who I’d hire, what sort of work we’d need, and some orders I’d have to call in for special Tinker parts. “I won’t let ya down, Boss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since it was my 21st birthday, I went out and had my first drink. It was a great way to recruit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had been recognized, so now I was ready to start my new life with a bang!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[As an Outcast, I wanted a fresh start]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>My life ended with a bang. My memory was shot. I tried to remember, and I-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stood over some kid, pointing a gun at him, blood pooling under him, screaming, and then something exploded. As I flew through the air, I saw a silver dragon-man throwing fire. Boxes were burning. I landed in one. Pain flowed through me, my arm most of all...and I-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I woke up in the hospital, one arm mostly gone and the other strapped down. My body hurt, covered in wounds. Burns all over. A robed girl was there, asking if she could heal me, asking who I was. I told her I didn’t know. She must have felt pity...because she touched me, and I-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I woke up in a van, my arm still gone, the pain gone. My clothes were fresh, and there were other men with me. Someone shouted to brace. I’m glad I did, because when the van got knocked over I didn’t die like the guards. I started to run off with them, but a dragon-man grabbed me. He said I had failed him, fire was in his hand, and I-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I woke in an alley, burning pain on my back. I knew where I could get painkillers. Vet’s office nearby. I snuck in, went straight for the drugs, but heard glass break. Someone else in here. Woman. Gas mask. Trench coat. Big gun. She needed drugs to stay awake, I needed them for pain. She offered a deal: I watch her back, she watches mine, and I-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I agreed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My lack of memories didn’t matter. It was a fresh start. I could find myself later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[As a Henchman, I wanted to find myself]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so keep in mind this is crude as hell, and not nearly up to my normal standards, and also pretty janky on the elbow, but it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boss, I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I interrupted her, tempted to reach out and poke her. She’d had a hair trigger when we’d first started working together, but even after a week she still got kind of jumpy when someone interrupted her Tinkering. “Gimme the arm already. C’mon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine!” She huffed, then carefully lined up the thing she’d spent the last few days working on and slid it onto the metal nub we’d put over what was left of my elbow two days ago. A bit of parahuman bullshit juice and it had healed up just fine. “Lucky for you this thing can shoot bombs, so I could even make it. Technically, it even runs on microscopic explosions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just going to nod and pretend any of that makes sense, Boss.” I hissed in pain as the nerve connections snapped into place, and nearly collapsed. She caught me, barely getting her tiny frame between me and the floor before I crashed down. Things went dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-okay? Hey! Wake up you lummox! Get off me!” I woke up to a hand slapping me in the face, and looked down to find I was crushing her. Even after losing an arm, I still had a good eighty pounds on her, and her goggles just glared at me. One was cracked. “Well, at least we know the arm can break Tinker-grade goggles. I mean, they might not be Tinker-grade, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about dat, Boss.” I gently slid off her, holding out a hand. It took me a few moments to realize it was my metal hand. She grabbed it, pulling herself up, and immediately started checking it over for damage. She ripped her goggles off, and I flinched away. “Hey!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” She sounded confused, and I carefully looked back at her. “Am I ugly or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re beautiful, it’s just...what about secret cape identities and stuff?” She was younger than I’d thought she’d be, maybe a year under me. Looked like the compliment had hit, and I wondered when the last time someone had said it to her. “I mean, I don’t really have a fancy name to trade with ya. I’m just a hired thug with broken memories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m an unhinged mathematician whose family already disowned her. My name’s worthless as it is. Just make something up! We’ve got each other’s backs, right?” That threw me for a loop, and she paused for a minute before smiling widely. Her face was red, but all I saw was her holding out a hand. “Hi, I’m Miranda Nakamura, also known as Bakuda the crazy Bomb Tinker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, my last few broken memories unscrambled as I heard her say </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bomb Tinker</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I remembered some kid shouting at me in a...bathroom? Calling me...something so silly that I suddenly grinned back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m Lie Wang, also known as...Gun Guy.” I posed heroically, but Miranda just laughed and shook my hand. “Eh, we’ll work on the name.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great!” Her eyes glittered, and she spread out a map on the table. “Now, let’s talk about my idea for recruiting Uber and Leet. I hear that they’re doing something in two days, so-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded and helped her make plans. Sure, I was just a henchman, a pretty small job.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was the job I’d chosen, with someone who cared about me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, despite broken memories, I had found myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[As a Mourner, I didn’t want to let go]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cripes Boss, I warned ya not to use the Drug Bomb up close.” I wiped at my face, doing my best to drive at night without any headlights. I was pretty sure I’d lost the cops and PRT ages ago, but there was no way of knowing if one of the Protectorate weren’t watching me from overhead. Still, I didn’t have time to waste. “Think it’s this next turn up here...yes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pulled into a garage hidden in the wall, the loud noise from a nearby club drowning out the sound of the metal door opening and then closing. I busied myself with wheeling the three beds out of the van, hooking up all the machines I’d rented yesterday and praying that...yes! Heartbeats and respiration were good. Bakuda, Uber, and Leet were still alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More or less. The hospital had declared them in permanent vegetative states, basically dead, and it wasn’t like they thought some lowly henchman could pull off a miracle anyway. Their brains were shutting down, their bodies going with them, and what I needed was a miracle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yo! Someone ordered three miracles to go?” An orange boy walked into the garage, holding up three small boxes as though they were pizzas, as if I hadn’t just spent all my money on them. “Get ‘em while they’re miraculous and lifesaving! Three magic healing potions, piping hot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d already forgiven the guy, Newter, for his part in this whole debacle. He couldn’t have known that his sweat was going to be used to make one big bomb (against my advice) instead of the ten small ones Bakuda...Miranda had said she was making. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, Newt had gone above and beyond, when I’d come to him full of anger and fear. He’d told me that his sweat couldn’t make people OD, but whatever Miranda had cut it with (as well as the synaptic thingy) had probably been the culprit. Important thing was that I needed help, and he knew a guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kid told me about the time he’d bumped into someone who then fell into a coma, and he’d been so scared that he’d tracked down a Chemistry Tinker by name of Cask. Guy had whipped something up to flush the system and heal the body, all for prices that were only slightly crazy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken every cent I had, especially since I figured I owed Uber and Leet, and here we were. It was a long shot, but it was all I had...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, Newt, hand ‘em over.” I took the boxes, opening them and trying not to let my hands shake. It hadn’t escaped my notice that the numbers on the monitors hooked up to Miranda and the other two were drifting lower. “Wish I had time to read the instructions Cask sent, but we need to hurry. Put on some gloves, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, no problem. If anyone can help your friends, it’s Cask. Guy’s a miracle worker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We carefully poured the flasks down their throats, massaging their throats like we’d been taught. Then...we waited. I had no idea what I’d do if this didn’t work, but it was all I had. I didn’t want to let go of what I’d had...to think about a world without Miranda. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had no family. I had no gang. I had no money. I had an arm that’d be junk in no time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had lost everything that mattered. Everyone. Now I was praying for a miracle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt tears in my eyes, got ready to mourn my friend...and then I heard a voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey…” Miranda whispered. “Nice...arm...who made it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[As a Brother, I’ll never leave her side]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, Newter brought in Faultline’s doctor, a guy they kept in Palanquin for fights and other ‘incidents’ of note. He gave all three a clean bill of health, and prescribed some liquids and plenty of rest for them. But they refused to sit still, and then I heard-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying, I get what you were talking about now.” Leet was saying, gesturing around wildly at himself, Uber, and Miranda. None of them had masks, but they didn’t seem to have noticed. “We nearly died, and all for the channel? We could do so much more as a team, and the fact that your guy was willing to put his neck out for you, and us, says you can’t be that bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m willing to give you a shot.” Uber shrugged, apparently knowing better than to challenge his life-long friend. “Plus, since everyone thinks we’re dead, we can get out of town, start fresh somewhere else. I mean, sure you have baggage, but who doesn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, to be fair, I have a lot more than just baggage.” Miranda looked away, fidgeting. She was doing that thing she did when trying to avoid dropping the other shoe. Like the time she accidentally made my arm into a bomb and didn’t want to take such a ‘majestic thing’ apart. “I killed a guy at Cornell. I mean, he stole my work and got me expelled, but that doesn’t make it better. You stick with me, and eventually someone might come after us…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eh, we can probably work out a PRT deal, like Madcap did. We’re going to be calling them up anyway on the way out of town to hand over all the security codes for my old lab, once we sneak in there and grab the good stuff.” Leet slapped Uber’s chest and winked. “As for you, Uber’s got you covered!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, good point. I passed the Bar last year in case we ever needed it, so I can practice law in New Hampshire. I can probably figure something out.” He laughed as Bakuda looked at him incredulously. “What? The New Hampshire Bar exam is really easy. I only studied for a week. I’m sure I can get some sort of trade to wipe the Bakuda slate clean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, the first thing I’m doing is getting rid of that name.” She rolled her eyes, grinning at them as they nodded in agreement. Her hand was shaky, but she made a fist and then spread her fingers like a hand-based explosion. “I’ve got a bunch of better ones already cooking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, like what?” Uber leaned in, fingers steepled in front of his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, because you’re short and get angry quickly?” He yelped as she threw something at him, and soon they were trading codename possibilities and laughing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could almost see the bonds between them growing, and felt like I was on an ice floe...drifting away. They had a connection, like what I used to have. Something I could never understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, I guess they’re starting over, and don’t really need a thug like me anymore…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I was in the van, trying to ignore them. It was time for me to go. I started the van, and...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...was surprised to see Miranda in front of the van, arms held out. Her legs started to shake, and I barely got out in time to catch her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” She shouted, slapping me on the side of the head. The other two came over to join us, and she put her arm over my shoulder as I tried to set her down. “I’m not going anywhere without my Gun Guy! You’re like a brother to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A brother? Miranda, you don’t gotta-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut. Up.” She growled, eyes misting over as she glared at me. “My parents gave up on me. My siblings deserted me. My friends all left me. But you? You risked everything to save my life. You’re my brother. Fucking accept it already, or I’ll bomb </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> into a coma and save </span>
  <em>
    <span>your</span>
  </em>
  <span> life to prove how much </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> mean to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried looking away, but she grabbed my head and forced me to look at her. We stared at each other, and I was afraid if I tried to talk I’d start crying. So instead I smiled. She smiled back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon, we were both laughing, and it felt like I was back home with my family again. It wasn’t something logical, but it didn’t have to make sense. Things like this never did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, we all shared our real names, nicknames, and codenames alike. Leet laughed at mine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gun Guy? Oh man, can’t you think of anything better?” Leet shook his head. “You sound like a knock-off Mega Man boss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, my name translates roughly to ‘Great Thunder,’ so...I guess I could use that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both looked at each other, looked back at me, and then shook their heads.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We agreed to workshop it. We’d have plenty of time on the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was time to start over, with my new sister.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With my new family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>********************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: The Epilogue of Story Arc 2! Greg </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> gets back to GstringGirl, the two clear the air and work out some differences, and he finds that she’s a lot smarter than he realized. Plus, a hint of what (and who) you’ll see in the next story arc!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Arc 2 Epilogue: No Longer Hated</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Monday, January 10, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I let out a long breath, then stretched my fingers and checked the time again. I had to leave for school in another thirty minutes. It felt strange to be going to school when I’d been in the hospital only a few days earlier, barely able to communicate or move. But this was my life now, and I’d have to get used to it eventually. Best of all, I wasn’t going to Winslow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We couldn’t (wouldn’t) go back there, and it wasn’t like they could just give us a week off school, so...off we went to school! All us transfers were getting time to get settled in, just until all the paperwork went through. No actual homework would be assigned until next week, and in the meantime we could all get tested, get used to the layout, and maybe make friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Speaking of friends...wish there was a better way to do this. To just hit reset, or rewind a week.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But I couldn’t. Real life didn’t work that way. I had been desperate, reaching out to someone through the anonymity of the internet, and had accidentally dragged her into my problems. When I got back from the hospital I’d logged into PHO, read through my messages, and had seen how badly it had affected her not knowing if I was okay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If I just tried to play it off as a joke, or ghost her, I’d be a monster. She really did see me as a friend, and I felt the same way about her. Friends didn’t treat each other that way. It wouldn’t make this any easier, but after seeing those chat logs...this was the best way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still nervous, I returned to the chat.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>So you were just in the hospital this whole time? Seriously?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Yeah, turns out that when a bully says you’re on their shit list, it doesn’t mean “mock me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> In my defense, it was Mystery Meat day at the cafeteria...so...I might have died either way.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Don’t even joke about that! Having people just die, just vanish...it’s not a joke.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Sorry, I was just...worried. Even if we only chat, you matter to me. A lot.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> &lt;3</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t believe I used to think that GstringGirl was just some rando online. She really cares.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...which is going to make this next part all the more difficult. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> I’m glad you’re back. So, about the fanfic...</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Yeah, the fanfic. There’s no easy way to say this, but...I’m actually going to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>You’re quitting it? But why? It was coming along so well! Greg is really growing up.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I’ll be honest with you. There were a lot of lies in that self-insert...but also a lot of truth. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I really do have anxiety, and was too afraid to ask for help. So I made up a Story Greg.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I’ve been following the same life advice you’ve been giving Story Greg. It helped me. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Wow, so I was like your secret therapist? I was helping Real Greg, for real?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> ...you dummy! Why didn’t you see a real therapist, or talk to someone?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I guess I was too afraid to trust people I knew IRL, and I didn’t really have any other friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I’m really sorry. It was to get help, but it was still lying to a friend. You didn’t deserve that.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> ...no, I get it. But you’re not going to lie to me anymore, right?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> I guess I should have known with those powers! Way too crazy to be real.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah...I’m not ready to be quite that honest yet. I’ll tell her someday. Wait, what’s that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Of course, if you DO have powers, your secret is safe with me, okay?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> If I ever see someone in Brockton Bay with powers like that, I’ll stay quiet!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Life is hard enough for a new cape without fangirls like me blabbing on identities.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> From now on, let’s just talk about Real Greg, and his Real Problems! </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She’s either kidding, or knows and is keeping my secret. Either way, I’m lucky to have her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Of course! Then again, with your help a lot of the problems are getting better.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> But really, I’m sorry about lying. I should have trusted you. I just...hated the person I was.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even now, seeing a therapist in a few days, I’m still afraid of what I’m going to say.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>...nah, I understand. I know what it’s like to hide who you are. You were scared.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> If we’re being honest...I’m in the same boat, when it comes to lies and privacy.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> What do you mean? You’ve never been shy with your opinion. I have chat logs!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> You’re funny, but come on...don’t just try to make me feel better.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> I’m not exactly someone who can really...go outside. Maybe someday. Not now.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> You’ll never get pictures of me, calls, or real-life visits. Because I’m...different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had always wondered about the odd excuses she gave me about not being able to send pictures. How she dodged giving me information on the town (or even state) she lived in. Even when I had offered to pay for her to make a collect call, she always found a way to turn it down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a while, I had been annoyed, thinking that she was just like all those kids in school who were just messing with me because it was fun. Like she was just another online troll. I was so afraid that she was just building up to something, but too afraid to call her out on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the last few weeks had changed me, and I felt like such an asshole looking back at myself. I’d seen how much she cared about me. The chat logs from when I was in the hospital, the things she’d said and done for me, all because she really worried about my wellbeing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Add in the discussion we’d had about bullies, with her bringing up Case 53s out of nowhere, and I was pretty sure she was one. More than that, it seemed like she hated her appearance, which made my own self-deprecation look petty and dumb. Every time I asked her for a picture or put myself down, I was probably making her feel like trash...because my problems were nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now I knew better, and was going to be better! What mattered to me most was that she was my friend, no matter what she looked like. She mattered to me because of </span>
  <em>
    <span>who she was.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I didn’t mean to pry or anything. I know I used to try really hard to get you to open up.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I get it now, why you didn’t want to. If you’re not comfortable...I’m sorry I pressured you.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Nah, you’re okay. After all this time together, I think I can trust you a little. Slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Whether you have powers or not, you’re a hero to me. Brave, kind, and dedicated. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I may not have a mask, a name, or a costume yet, but I do have a fan. My very first one.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>My phone buzzed, an alarm reminder going off.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Aw man, I need to leave in 20 minutes. Okay, better log off.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> With a true friend like you, GstringGirl, I’d be the best hero ever. Anyway, I gotta go. School!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Hey, hold up a sec. I just realized...since I already know you’re Greg…</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> From now on, since we’re true friends...why don’t you call me Sveta?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sveta? That’s a nice name. Sounds kind of Russian. Maybe that’s why her grammar was bad?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Sure. Have a great day, Sveta. You’re awesome, don’t let anyone tell you different.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl:</b>
  <span> Have a great day, Greg. Don’t get in any more bloody bully-bashing battles!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> No promises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I moved the mouse to close the window, I saw her send me a rolleyes ASCII.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I got dressed a lot faster than usual, but wasn’t really rushing for once. Thanks to having clothes that were actually in a closet and hanging up, it wasn’t like I had to keep grabbing things and doing a sniff-test. There was now a very clear difference between clean and dirty, and I wished I could reach back in time a month and ask Past Greg what the hell had been wrong with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slipping on my awesome jacket, I took a moment to look at myself in the mirror on the back of my closet door. I had always covered it up with a poster before, because the guy I saw in it </span>
  <em>
    <span>used to </span>
  </em>
  <span>make me feel sad. He was skinny, ugly, and even his smile was creepy and strange.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m still the same guy as I was. I guess I’m still not entirely okay with that. Something to work on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The Greg in the mirror bothered me, and it wasn’t something that was easy to think about. Even with my newfound honesty with my parents, I still felt strange talking to them about some things. Not just power stuff, but...body things. Like, I looked in the mirror and worried that I was ugly, or too skinny, or that people would talk about those features when referring to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I wondered if maybe that was the reason I was seeing a therapist? That perhaps there was some way I could use that to motivate myself, or to make me want to be more than I was. It was one thing to be fine with myself as a person, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t want to change.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I still wanted to get into some kind of exercise, fill out a bit. Hell, I’d been complaining about my lack of physical fitness on and off for weeks now, and after the full tune-up Amy had given me it felt like a crime to let myself fall back into disrepair. She hadn’t given me any boosts or bonuses, as far as I knew. I’d just have to do it myself. I flexed at myself, then sighed and left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom and George were already gone, but Dad was waiting when I got downstairs. He was reading the paper and drinking coffee, and from the smell it was my favorite blend. He offered me some, but only as a joke. I’d never liked the flavor, but the smell of coffee always seemed to relax me. I wondered if he had just brewed this pot for me, to raise my spirits a little for the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, hold up, son!” That hypothesis was confirmed when, as I headed to the door after scarfing down three toaster pastries (breakfast of champions), he ignored his coffee to follow me. By the time I reached the door, Dad was already there with a smile. “I’m not due at work for another hour, so how about I walk you to the bus?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t say no to that, and after an uncomfortable silence we were off to the bus stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then we came back and locked the door, like responsible adults.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had the feeling that Dad wanted to talk about something specific, but so far hadn’t really said a single word. Every time I glanced over at him, he’d just look like he was in deep thought, and this happened several times. I was afraid that the whole walk would be silent, but then…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Son, you asked me a question a few weeks ago. I kind of passed on actually answering, but figured it was high time I actually gave you a response.” He was looking at the sidewalk as he talked, but had a worried look on his face. “You had asked what your mother and I would do if you suddenly got powers. Well, I’ve been thinking about that a lot since then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah, the first time I started trying to out myself. Just after he took my computer.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess if I had answered back then, I would have just given a canned answer of some kind, like saying that I would love and support you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I seemed to recall overhearing him tell Mom almost those exact words, when I’d listened in on them. I had been sad to hear how much they were disappointed in me, although that hadn’t really been the case, had it? They just hadn’t understood me, and had wanted to help me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But now?” Dad laughed, putting an arm over my shoulder and pulling me in for a one-armed hug out of nowhere. The big man squeezed my ribs, and I let out a startled laugh. “Greg, you stood up for a friend, even though you thought she hated you. You fought bullies, even though you were afraid of them. You fell, and a girl who used to bully you helped save your life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I realized that Dad wasn’t letting go, and put my arms around him, hugging him as we stood in the middle of the sidewalk. A few other teens passed us and made calls or noises, but I ignored them. I had forgotten how great it was to be hugged by my big, strong, warm Dad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now, I don’t have to worry about what my son would do with powers.” He whispered, slowly leaning back so I could look up into his face. “Because whether you have powers or not, I already know that you’re a hero.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, we’d both had a laugh and wiped our tears, waving at the passersby until they turned away uncomfortably. I guess seeing a grown man and his son cry manly tears was just too much for them. We walked the last block to the corner, and made smalltalk for a few minutes until the Arcadia Bus pulled up. We were one of the last stops, so it was already pretty full.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bus was in far better shape than Winslow’s with clean seats, a bus driver who didn’t look like an escaped convict, and even heat! I took a moment to stand on the steps and wave to Dad, being the last on the bus, and then climbed up into my new school experience.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh man, I don’t recognize any of these people. Forgot about that. Okay, fresh start.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! It’s that kid from Winslow who fought the bullies!” A voice called out, and I froze.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The whole bus went silent, then suddenly everyone was looking at me and trying to talk to me. I felt my face heating up as I looked around for a place to sit. Only open seats were in the back, but I was already starting to worry whether these kids were bullies or football players or popular kids or how they’d treat an outcast who-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Greg! Over here!” A voice called out, and I snapped my eyes to them, my feet already carrying me past the faces and voice and hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d already started to flinch before realizing that the hands were just held up, not...coming at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, they’re not trying to hit me. They want high-fives. Why? What did I do?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Nervous, and not really used to doing it, I slapped a few hands on my way to the back of the bus. I think I hit a few wrists, but nobody really seemed to mind. By the time I got back there, people had gone back to their own conversations, and I recognized the person who had summoned me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, glad to see you’re going to Arcadia as well.” Allen was there, a thick book in one hand and the other held out in my direction. He was standing, and as I took his hand he pulled me into my second hug of the day. Allen was a little taller than me and a lot stronger, but only held me for a moment before letting go. “Apologies, but I was very worried about you. Losing you would have made many unhappy, myself included.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Th-that’s okay. Thanks. I’m still getting used to the idea that people…” I trailed off, stopping before I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>care about me</span>
  </em>
  <span> because it might have sounded strange. Instead I just blushed, realizing that this was the first time I could recall being hugged by non-family. “T-thanks Allen. Thanks for clearing the way for those paramedics, and saving my life...and testifying for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem, I care about you.” Allen looked in his book, hiding his face for a moment as I sat beside him. “It was also the right thing to do, and I regret I didn’t do more, sooner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? I mean, you always had all your friends, and your brother. I don’t mind-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No Greg, it’s not something you should just forgive.” Allen closed the book, giving me his full attention. He usually had a blank look on his face, but now it looked more serious. “In my testimony, I said that you inspired me, and it wasn’t because of what you did for Taylor. I remembered what you did for </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>back in Freshman year, when we used to eat lunch together. I hoped that I could make up for being a bystander for so long, ignoring your tribulations.” </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What I did for him? I sat near him at lunch, talked, got ignored, and...that’s it. What’s he mean?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the time, I was being teased mercilessly for my skin color, my interests, my...preferences. I wanted to join the baseball team, as that game made so much sense to me, but allowed my brother to bully me into joining him in playing football.” He saw me watching him, and the larger boy blushed and looked at the book in his lap. “Every day at lunch, I saw you getting bullied. Sitting with me only made it worse, but you kept trying. I ignored you, despite being secretly thankful, and have always regretted that. My testimony was a chance to pay you back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Allen, no!” I waved my hands, lowering my voice. “You’re making me out to be some great humanitarian or inspiration, but that’s wrong. I was just a desperate kid, lonely and…kind of pitiful, really. I mean, I’m glad it made you feel better, but I was selfish, stupid, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, don’t downplay your actions, Greg.” Allen shook his head, raising his voice a little. “You never teased me, even when others did. You never stopped trying to cheer me up, even when I ignored you. You were there for me. Your bravery inspired me, Greg. Meeting your brother, talking to your parents...I only wish I had gotten to know you sooner. I hope that now, I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My face was getting hot with all these compliments, delivered so eloquently, and I was afraid to say anything in response. He was saying such nice things, and I’d always been afraid that I was just this annoying kid who hung around him like a leech. Was he just messing with me? Was this real? I felt nervous and happy and scared all at the same time, and yet so...good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” I finally choked out, and was relieved when Allen just nodded and smiled. He returned to his book, and the bus rolled on. The worst part was how amazing it felt, to have such a strong, handsome, and all around amazing person thanking me. Acting like I was special. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People being nice to me...it’s going to take some getting used to. Crap, don’t cry! Calm down!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time we reached the next stop, I had gotten control of myself, and Allen was trying to catch me up on the conversation he’d been having before I had arrived.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and so, we were talking about caretakers.” He pointed at the seat behind us, and I saw someone a little shorter than us leaning over our seats. He was blonde, heavyset, and biting his lip. I flushed as it occurred to me that he’d just heard our entire exchange. “I believe that his parents might be sociopaths, and was trying to explain that they-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, Allen! You can’t just-” I started to raise my hand, because you don’t just call people sociopaths, but the new boy stopped me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s not his fault. It’s mine!” The other boy gasped, then sighed and shook his head. “I probably explained it badly. I’m not very good at talking sometimes. I was talking about my step-mother’s friends. They’re kind of strange, but I mean...sorry. I’m really sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I could tell him he didn’t need to apologize for that, I heard a familiar voice call my name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg? Oh, hey Allen!” Footsteps clomped near me, and I felt a smile come to my face as memories of the day before warmed me. “Hey, can I sit here? It’s my first day, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, no problem.” The kid I had been talking to scooted over, and Taylor was suddenly sitting in his place. She looked the same as she had a week ago, brilliant green sweatshirt and jeans...along with her awesome new backpack. “Welcome to Arcadia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Glad they were able to get the blood out. My blood. Oof, that’s a chill down my spine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I wasn’t sure what to say, Taylor seemed to notice I was a little flustered, and Allen just flicked his eyes between the two of us. Luckily, there was now a fourth person in our conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, um...I’ve been going to Arcadia for a while...and it’s been really cool hanging out with you so far. You’re nice.” The blonde kid was looking down at his hands, barely talking loud enough for us to hear him. He noticed us leaning in and spoke up a little. “Um, I just wanted to let you know I can show you around today. You know, if you want me to. You don’t have to...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, that would be great! Thanks a lot, man.” It took me a moment to realize that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>my voice</span>
  </em>
  <span> speaking, and I felt like I was looking back at myself, months and months ago. Nervous, reaching out, hoping to be useful. I felt like I knew this kid. “Oh, that reminds me, I’m Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Allen.” Allen waved, looking up from his book and staring at me for some reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taylor.” She was looking at me too, a strange smile on her face. Was there food on my shirt?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Oh that’s great! I’m Theo!” He smiled, and it was like a whole new person was looking at us. A brief stormcloud passed over his face, as he added, “Just a heads up, though. I get teased by...people sometimes. Kids might mess with you if you’re too friendly with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, Theo. That doesn’t matter.” I grinned at his perplexed look. “I’ve got your back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, better be careful Theo.” Taylor cut in, her face deadly serious. She stage-whispered to him, “If Greg Veder says he has your back, that means he’ll go to the hospital for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allen, Taylor, and I all laughed. Soon Theo was chuckling as well, once we told him the story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the bus rolled on, I thought about how good it was to laugh with friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait a second? Friends? Do I have friends now? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...Holy shit! I have friends!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[End of Arc 2]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>**********************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Arc 3 begins. New school! New classmates! New relationships! New therapist! Speaking of that therapist, how the hell does therapy work?</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>AN: Whew, 2/3rds of the way through the story, and we finally have a protagonist who is a little bit self-aware, worthy of friends, trusts his family, and looking forward to the future. So what does Arc 3 hold? Well, the title of this is “From Hated to Hero,” and Greg is no longer “Hated.” </p><p>...so why don’t we get to the “Hero” part? Time to enter the final arc of the story!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Arc 3 Prologue: Learning to Get Help</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Friday, January 14, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring at the food on my tray, I wondered if this was some kind of trick. It looked far too good to be real, and nothing like the cafeteria food I was used to. Something touched my shoulder, and I flinched away for a moment before looking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside me was someone about my age. Blonde, short hair, maybe a little heavier and shorter than me. He looked worried, but was still smiling, and gestured at my tray. “It looked like you were just staring at your burger there, I wasn’t sure if you were going to take a nap on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Theo. Friendly. Says he gets teased, but I’ve never seen it. Timid, self-deprecating, and kind.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Theo.” I laughed again, and this time he joined me. I waved at the cafeteria around us before taking another bite from my burger. “Guess I have a lot on my mind. Lots to get used to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even after five days, I kept expecting to blink and find myself back in Winslow’s cafeteria. Broken chairs, ruined tables, and food that may have escaped a lab somewhere. Bullies around every corner, just waiting to ruin your day. It was hard to forget.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this was Arcadia. The walls were clean, the tables were whole, and the chairs even had little cushions on them. As if the butts of students were suddenly important. As if we mattered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still?” Theo looked concerned, “It’s been a week! Winslow must have been really bad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Winslow wasn’t actually bad.” A boy sitting across from me looked up from his book. He paused for effect, staring blankly, then lifted the corner of his mouth. “It was terrible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Allen. Blunt. Moderately handsome. Kind of a muscular nerd. Likes quiet. Still learning humor.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am quite surprised that I’ve gone an entire week without being denigrated for the color of my skin, my interest in books, or my manner of speaking.” Allen smiled at us, then turned to focus wholly on me as he knocked on our table. “Also, I no longer eat at a table that has ‘dickbutt,’ ‘ABB Rulez,’ or ‘Fuck Veder’ carved into it, along with a variety of racial slurs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please stop banging on my pillow...” The pile of hair next to Allen groaned, and began to shift around. Before our eyes, the hair lifted, a pair of arms emerged, and Taylor Hebert was suddenly before us instead of Cousin Itt. She tied her hair back into a loose ponytail, and tucked it into her sweatshirt before addressing us. “Sorry, I was just luxuriating in the fact that I can put my head on a table without needing to worry about getting stuck to it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor. Focused, clever, and wary. Loves books and parahumans. Hates bullies and chewing gum.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that or having someone dump a tray of food on you.” I added, then tapped my chin. “Or would they just steal it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Winslow students were actually quite big on synergy.” Allen corrected me. “Far more likely that they would steal your food, dump it on you, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> use it for some puerile teasing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?” Theo looked back and forth between us, shaking his head as he sighed. “I think you guys are messing with me. There’s no way a school could be that bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the little things that add up, I suppose.” Taylor adjusted her glasses, and pointed around the packed cafeteria. “For instance, at Winslow there were never enough chairs or tables for all the students, even with some of us eating outside or in stairwells. Meanwhile, here at Arcadia I think you have more seats than students.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, they certainly have the money for it.” I agreed, gesturing at Allen. “Hell, I’ll bet if Allen smashed his chair it’d be replaced by Monday. Anyone want to test my theory?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Allen pretended to lift a chair and Theo waved his arms before getting the joke, I smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taylor’s right, though. It’s not big, but I kind of feel like I’m slightly out-of-phase with the rest of the world. It’s like...” I took another bite of my burger, and was a little shocked to see that the other three were actually waiting for me to finish chewing so I could finish the thought. “It’s like being in an entirely different country, but one that speaks the same language. Like if I was going to school in Canada.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, because everyone is more polite here?” Theo looked like he was mentally chewing on the idea, and I nodded at him. “Well, maybe we’re just happy to have you walking aboot, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think that accent is entirely accurate, Theo.” Allen shook his head, then shrugged and began to finish off the spice-laden protein stew he usually brought from home. It was one of the many reasons I enjoyed having lunch with him...his homemade food always made even a Arcadia meal ten times better just via osmosis. “But I appreciate the attempt at levity.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just think you guys are putting way too much effort into acting like wide-eyed tourists, is all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! We’re not that bad.” I mock-glared at Theo, and he immediately ducked his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.” Theo nearly whispered, then went back to picking at his food. “I was just being dumb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I flinched, having forgotten one of the first things we had all learned about Theo. For reasons I still had yet to discern, extremes of praise made him put himself down. Facetious insults brought out a subservient and doubtful side of the boy. Either one would just make him shut down, and trying to apologize or excuse him only made it worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation died, because I had killed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allen ate his food and read his book. Theo wrapped some of his food in napkins and put them in his backpack. I pretended to eat my burger, despite having lost my appetite. Taylor fiddled with a rubik’s cube, having found it at a garage sale a few days earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was mentally kicking myself for having taken what had been a fun exchange between (fairly new) friends, and turned it into another cringe-worthy Greg Veder Moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was still learning, though. We all were, I supposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Most people make friends over the course of years...but we’ve all been trying to do it in a week.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“But seriously, it is different here.” Taylor’s voice broke the silence, and I was so happy I could have cheered. She looked kind of worried, and motioned for us to lean in as she began to tell a story. “Some girl ran into me in the hallway, and we both dropped our books. She was a pretty redhead, and I just froze up from habit. I was ready for her to tear into me, and then she...”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Damn, I thought we left that sort of crap behind in Winslow. Wonder if it was a friend of-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...apologized to me.” Taylor’s voice was barely audible, and she smiled. I think Allen and I both recoiled in partially real shock, making Theo sigh. “She handed me my books, said she wasn’t looking where she was going, and then left before I could even get her name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...isn’t that good?” Theo spoke slowly, and we all looked at him so suddenly he shrank a little. “I mean, isn’t that what you wanted when you came here? Less bullies, nicer people, and so on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah…” Taylor frowned, looking confused all of the sudden. “But I didn’t think I’d get it. I mean, having cute girls...hell, having </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span> be nice to me...I’m not sure how to react. What do I do if I run into her again? Compliment her? Pretend it didn’t happen? Invite her to...lunch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know where you’re coming from, Taylor.” I sighed, seeing her blush and figuring it couldn’t hurt to mention my own odd experience. “My first day, I got approached out of nowhere by some preppy, well-dressed, handsome dude. Hell, he even had a fancy name, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dean Stansfield</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to be mean, but that sounds like someone whose butler has a butler.” Taylor muttered, shaking her head. Theo chuckled, and Allen suddenly seemed very interested in my story. “What did he do? Challenge you to a baseball game so you could save your orphanage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, he said he’d heard about my situation, what brought me here...and that he was going to keep an eye out for me. To make sure nobody tried to bully me.” I left out that I’d recognized him as Gallant, and had been too scared to ask if he was aware of who I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>was. I’d just stuttered out my thanks, jogging off, and tried not to think about it. “People seem to like me for standing up to bullies, even though I got beat up. All this leads me to one inescapable conclusion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you’re in a better school, with better people, and should stop focusing on the past?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of us looked at each other, then shook our heads at Theo and replied...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that this place is weird.” “That this is a trick.” “That we’re part of a secret experiment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Theo jokingly put his head into his hands and we all laughed, I noted that Allen’s non-sequitur had been partially correct. There actually was some secret observation going on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fifty feet away was a table with four inhabitants who had been glancing at us for the past several minutes. They were talking with lowered voices, kept glancing in our direction and frowning, and were far too familiar for it to be mere coincidence. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Some buff dude, Dean, Amy, and Victoria makes four. Four parahumans. Ah-ah-ah!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I had actually seen several of the Wards around school over the past week, and aside from smiles and stares hadn’t been approached. As for Victoria and Amy, the former was a social butterfly and seemed to know I was a social stink bomb, and her sister barely even looked at me. That was fair, since all I’d really done was make trouble for them, for all of them really.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hobson had assured me that we wouldn’t do a Wards meet-and-greet until power testing was done and my therapist gave the okay. I was doing my best not to look at their powers, just in case we ever talked and they found out I could do that. No matter what fanfiction had told me, telling someone “I know your secrets but haven’t told anyone” didn’t make people trust you.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was an asshole to them and got their teammate thrown in jail. How can they ever trust me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about you, Greg?” Allen’s voice shook me out of my thoughts, and I turned back to see him smiling at me. They were all looking at me expectantly. “We were just talking about our plans for the weekend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Sorry, I was just thinking about…” I grasped for the first thing that came to mind. “A...um...doctor’s appointment I have after school. Kind of nervous. I’m not in great shape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you have an excellent shape, Greg.” Allen smiled at me, and Taylor snorted her milk at that moment. As Allen slapped her on the back, he continued, “Taylor may disagree, but I do enjoy looking at you. You should be more body-positive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I honestly can’t tell when you’re joking or being serious.” Theo sighed and shook his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have no sense of humor, Theo.” Allen stared blankly at the boy, then held up one arm and flexed it. “I traded it in for my good looks, musculature, brains, and sex appeal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you certainly got a good deal.” I grinned at the other boy and he blushed. Worried I had offended him, I quickly held up one of my spindly arms to show off my lack of muscle. “I mean, you’re totally ripped. Meanwhile, my sense of humor only got me this lemon. Total ripoff!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The others gave me a chuckle over that, and then Taylor finally cleared her throat. “So, if you two are done flirting, I’m helping my Dad clean out our nasty basement. I mean, I’m happy to spend time with him, but it’s pretty ghastly down there. We’ve got a huge pile of boxes in one corner that are more liquid than solid at this point. I might have to bring a flamethrower.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, just make sure you bring a fire extinguisher, too.” Theo shook his head, then sighed. “I’m going to Boston to visit my father. He practically lives there these days working on his new business...after months of silence he suddenly ordered my step-mother to bring me to him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was kind of an unspoken rule that we didn’t bring up Theo’s dad, nor really ask anything about him. Apparently he was some big shot businessman, and there weren’t that many rich men with the last name Anders in Brockton Bay or Boston. At the same time, Theo had never struck me as a rich kid...neither his personality nor his anxiety really fit that sort of lifestyle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worse, the way he always acted when his dad was referenced made me wonder if Max Anders had anything to do with Theo’s habits. He would put himself down, insult his own weight, turn down compliments, go emotionless sometimes...was it because Max had rejected him?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve only known him for five days. I guess all I can do is be there for him. Wish I could do more...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you wish to switch, I will gladly visit your father and give him a piece of my mind.” Allen smiled at Theo, who sighed and shook his head sadly. “My family is dragging me to some sort of party. Loud music, fools who talk to me about my father’s business, girls who compliment my physical form, and boys who give me backhanded compliments. Another waste of my time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In contrast to Theo, Allen talked about his family all the time. He painted a picture for us of a very large, rich, and socially active group of people. The fact that he loved quiet, reading, and respect might have been one of the reasons he’d latched on to the three of us so fast. Theo was a very peaceful boy, Taylor loved books, and being an outcast for so long had made me kinder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I don’t know if my plans can really compare to cleaning, house shopping, or extravagant parties…” I deliberately stared at Allen as I trailed off. He stared right back at me, only smiling after I blinked first. “But I’m being roped into going out of town, as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, how did the story go? Come on, Hobson even quizzed me last night...it was...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...I’m going camping, as a sort of nature cleanup thing.” I let out a little groan, shaking my head. “Willowdale State Forest, about an hour south of here, is full of trash my brother was going to pick up...until he got sick. So after I spend tonight taking care of him, I get to go out there and pick up a bunch of trash. Personally, I’m hoping he gives me whatever flu he’s got...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg! Don’t say that!” Theo looked shocked, and I saw that the other two were less than happy as well. “I can’t believe you’d-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, sorry!” I held up both hands, heat rushing to my face, and I felt embarrassed. Not only because I was about to lie on top of a lie, but because of the way Theo’s face fell when he realized how he’d reacted. “After what you said about the flat tire...it was a bad joke, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s okay. I overreacted. I never get jokes. You’re fine.” Theo muttered, grabbing his tray and standing. “I gotta get to class, see you guys later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor started walking with Theo and trying to distract him, making up for my screwup. I left as well, not wanting to make things worse, and only noticing Allen trying to catch up as the door shut behind me. I really sucked at this friend thing, lying and now running away.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Looks like I’m going to have a lot to talk about at my appointment...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem nervous, Gregory.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Me?” I took a few deep breaths, and looked at the man again. Sitting only ten feet away from each other, in comfortable chairs as a faint bit of music played in the background, it was hard to believe I was really here. Seeing a PRT-approved therapist as part of the first of many steps towards becoming a hero. “Nah, I’m fine. Totally. Just...um...thinking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Lawrence Vasquez was a friend of my father’s, someone he’d known when they were in college. Hobson had approved of him, Mom had smiled when his name was mentioned, and the moment his door had closed there had been a perfect silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked like he was Dad’s age, had a light Latino accent I couldn’t place, and was very friendly. Salt and pepper hair, a small beard, skin that made me look paler than usual, and...I was distracting myself again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d been doing that for the last several minutes, actually. Staring at my hands, looking at the clock, noticing I had wasted more time, and of course getting embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had talked to Sveta about this a few days earlier, how I was nervous about seeing a therapist. She admitted that she had been seeing one for a while. In a chat that went until the wee hours of the morning, she started to tell me about her doctor (Yamada), her room (at a special hospital), and her friends (Earl, Keelee, and others). How much therapy had helped her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every time I got down on myself or used a bad word (like crazy) to refer to myself, she shut it down and told me something good about myself. I actually think she told me too much, but was trying to help me stop being so negative and was just throwing everything she could. It helped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was so supportive, and I wished I could do something in return…but I couldn’t even talk to a therapist right. I was wasting his time, and every time I looked at the clock I felt worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>There goes another minute. I should just leave. This was a bad idea. How can I escape?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about I just do this?” He picked up some shiny magazines and gently placed them over the clock, covering it from view. “Much better. Don’t worry about the time, Gregory. Relax.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-sorry, Doctor Vasquez.” I tried to smile at the man, but my eyes slid off him and my mind went blank. “I guess...I don’t know what to talk about. I mean, do you have questions for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would you think I have questions for you?” He held up a packet of paper, and I could see handwriting all over it. “Your parents already told me quite a bit, and that’s to say nothing of the survey you filled out. Why, I even have a detailed letter here from two PRT agents.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ah, Hobson and Kalpin. They probably had a lot to say about me. Mostly bad, I’ll bet…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think I have questions for you, Gregory. In fact, I wonder if you have some for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what?” If I hadn’t been sitting, I probably would have fallen over. “I thought that the whole point of this was for you to ask me questions, and I just kind of...get over my problems?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An excellent first question! The answer is: No, I’m not helping you get over problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I thought you were going to help me get over panic attacks and anxiety?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gregory, as a therapist, my job is to help you accomplish three goals. First, I will work with you to identify the roots of the problems and anxieties you face. Second, to help you understand why you react the way you do to them, and under what circumstances. Finally, I will do everything in my power to give you as many tools as possible to cope with them, and help you avoid getting into those circumstances by forging strong bonds with family and friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So this is less of a cure, and more about you teaching me skills? I’ll try my best, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to pretend that was part of your second question, and that you wanted to know </span>
  <em>
    <span>how</span>
  </em>
  <span> you could try your best.” He looked solemn, and began to count off his fingers. “The best way is for you to be honest, speak freely, and speak often. To help you do so, I want you to know that this is a safe place. Your identity and powers are safe. Your actions and thoughts are safe. Your past and plans for the future are safe. You are safe here, and can speak to me. Please do so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Right, honesty. Back to my lunchtime discussion, huh? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, about that. Honesty.” I was looking at the covered clock again, because it meant I didn’t have to look at his face and see if he was getting annoyed at me. “How am I supposed to keep lying to...at lunch today I had to...nevermind, I’m just being stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gregory, as I said before, this is a safe place.” I looked back up and saw he wasn’t glaring...he was smiling. “If you have something to say, then go ahead and say it. Whether it’s bad, good, insulting, complimentary, or just confusing...I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It has to do with...tomorrow.” I sighed, hoping that this wasn’t going to be the way my first and only session ended. “Today I took my cover story a bit too far, a friend got mad at me, and I feel like it’s all because I lied. Sure, we haven’t been friends that long, but it still feels wrong. I really hate the idea of lying to people who are putting so much faith in me and...I don’t deserve it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah.” He steepled his fingers, tapping them against his beard for a few moments, then sighed. I was certain that this would be the point where he told me I was being an idiot, and that I needed to grow up, but instead, “You’re a very good person, Gregory. I envy you, in some ways.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Envy me?” I felt my face grow hot, because this sounded like he was just saying it to be nice to me. I wasn’t the sort of person people were supposed to envy! “But unmasking! Unwritten Rules! I read all this stuff on the internet and saw what happens when people-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gregory, please take a breath.” I stopped, noticing that I was a little light-headed, and looked at Doctor Vasquez as he directed me to take slow, calm breaths. “I appreciate you doing all that research, but if anyone knows that the internet is full of misdirection it must be a teenager, correct? I read through that ‘Homebrew Power Testing’ document of yours. Remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just nodded, wondering if it was possible to fry an egg on my face at this point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So my advice to you is to just take things one day at a time. Don’t worry about the PRT, the Wards, or anything else...that’s all on hold. Your health, both mental and physical comes first, and it’s all I care about. I also think, even knowing you this short time, that true friends will understand that some of your life is private. You know them better than me. Do you agree?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess. Sorry for...you know. I’m still nervous about all this, Doctor Vasquez.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Gregory. I look forward to talking to you about both powers and people, brains and bodies.” He smiled again. “By the way, your parents call me Larry, you can do the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In that case, I guess you can call me Greg.” I smiled at him, then groaned as his alarm went off. “Aw man, I was just getting used to this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to worry, Greg.” He stood and clasped my hand, leading me to his door. “I’ve emailed you a few questions, by the way, and I’d appreciate it if you’d take your time reading over them and answering. No wrong answers, it’s not a test...I just want to get to know you better. Now, go eat a big meal and sleep well. Tomorrow’s going to be a very busy day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, tomorrow.” I nodded, remembering the email Hobson had sent with suggestions on clothing, my cover story, and so on...as well as a reminder to ‘be myself.’ As if that was actually a good idea. “I guess I’ll just go home and practice my fake coughs and sneezes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t worry too much, Greg.” He laughed, ushering me out. “It’s all under control.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For once, I decided to trust that he was right, and just went home to try and rest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I told Sveta how therapy had gone, she was so proud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>****************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Hope you enjoyed that awkward teen conversation, because we’ve got plenty of them still to come. Luckily next time it’ll be with a mix of old and new faces, as Greg finally starts his journey to become a hero. First step, practice faking sick! Wait, what?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0040"><h2>40. 3.1: Learning to Travel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Dr. Vasquez Email Question:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> When we first met, you spoke to me in Spanish, then excused yourself. I didn’t see you again before I left, and I was wondering...why? What happened?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Greg:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> Way to start off with a tough one, Doc.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even after everything I’ve been through, I still have problems fitting in with new people. When I meet someone new, I want to stand out in their mind...make them remember me in a positive way. I want to give them a reason to think fondly of me. I want to be special, so I throw everything at the wall and hope something sticks...rambling like an idiot.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When I met you, I heard your accent and last name. I wanted to appear respectful, adult, and worldly. Before I could stop myself I was firing off what little Spanish I knew, greeting you. You smiled and responded, and I had to admit to myself that I had no idea what you were saying.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My plan crumbled. I had forgotten that we were going to be seeing each other for months, and that you were being paid to help me. I thought I’d screwed up our relationship in mere moments, and ended up hiding in the bathroom until you had left. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m glad I have the chance to be honest now, but I wish I’d gotten it right the first time. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, January 15, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Even after they saved my life, hospitals still made me nervous.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clad in winter clothing and a surgical mask, I stood in line behind a man with a very swollen face. He was moaning every few seconds, and I did my best to avoid listening in on what had brought him here this fine morning. Instead, I just made a few more dry coughs and a fake sniffle to pass the time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, I was supposed to be pretending to have the flu, and Hobson’s notes had been nothing if not detailed. Heck, Dad and George had even stayed up last night practicing with me, Mom in stitches across the room at our antics. It wasn’t exactly the sort of thing I thought I’d ever do on my path to being a hero, but it sure brought us together as a family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Next!” I moved past the moaning man as he headed for the waiting room. “Name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wow, what are the odds? It’s that nurse I yelled at weeks ago...and I just forgot my cover story.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, I don’t got all day, kid.” She held out a hand, gesturing at me. “Your name? ID?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-sorry. I’m Steve P-Peters.” I stammered out the fake name the PRT had given me, and handed over the fake Student ID Hobson had given me. I made a loud cough as I waited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my gosh, that cough sounds horrible! We need to keep you away from the other patients.” She gasped, handing my ID back, and shooing me off to the side. “This strain of the flu is highly contagious, so please go to Waiting Room 3 and try not to get close to anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded at her, then shuffled off to the side and paused. Before I could ask where Waiting Room 3 was, I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see redhead a few years older than me in a nurse’s outfit. She waved at me, her jewelry making clicking noises and catching the light. A surgical mask covered her lower face, but it seemed like she was smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey darlin’, ahm Nurse Annabelle, if yew could just follow me this way?” She had a southern accent, and I found my eyes drawn to the many shiny bracelets covering her wrist. Then I realized I was staring at a cute nurse, and tore my eyes away to look at the ground. The last thing I wanted was to be a creepy jerk, especially to someone who was trying to help me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She put a hand on my shoulder, making me blush and look away as she took me down a hallway. I’d only seen two waiting rooms, so there was probably a third one nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then we went through some double doors, and I started to get a little bit worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After going down a flight of stairs, my worry was starting to bloom into full-blown fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The plan was that I fake being sick, they take me to a side room, and...where are we going?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Hobson’s email hadn’t been entirely clear on where I was going to end up, and I’d just taken it as a given that the PRT had something planned. I mean, it made sense to me that this would be done at a secret location, and probably involve more than just one person. But this was odd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worried that something was wrong, I faked stretching my arm to look around. We were alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry darlin’, ah know it’s a long walk. We’re nearly there, though.” She gently guided me around another corner. I responded with a cough, the surgical mask over my face puffing out and reminding me that at least I had minty breath. “Wow, you’re really sounding sick there, Steve. Dang that flu, we’ll be sure to take good care’a yew!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her kind demeanor made me feel better, but the loud grinding noise (getting louder) ahead was making me feel worse. Dread was welling up, and I was wondering if I should make a run for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a little bit farther, now.” I started to slow down, but her hand pressed on me. She’d looked dainty, but there was some serious power in that grip. “You’re so brave, comin’ here </span>
  <em>
    <span>alone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Why didn’t they let me bring George? The whole cover was that I got sick from him! Oh man…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I...um...need to go to the bathroom, so I’m just going to-” I started to turn, but her hand stopped me and I felt a surge of fear stab through me. Would she attack me? Knock me out? Was this really a kidnapping? “I...um...please, miss, d-don’t...don’t hurt me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, are you serious?” Her accent vanished, and I whimpered. The grinding noise was louder.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh man, I made her break character and now she’s going to hurt me and nobody will ever-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, it’s me!” Her forehead creased, and my fear just...ceased. Annabelle reached for her mask, pulling it off, and I felt the most incredible urge to slap myself as I saw Victoria’s face. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Between the mask, my hair, and the accent, no wonder you were getting spooked! Then I got worried and let my Aura leak out, and...I guess I really overdid it, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m an idiot. If I had just looked at her powers instead of...god, I’m already screwing this up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s my fault. I got all dumb, because a cute nurse was being nice to me, and I just froze up.” I tried to set her mind at ease, remembering how she’d reacted back at Ren’s shop, and joked. “I’m too used to people pointing out how ugly and pathetic I am, so it was a shock-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I could finish the joke, Victoria swept forward and grabbed me. Not by the shoulders, to slam me against the wall. Not by the neck, to shut me up. Not even by the shirt, to drag me off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I let out a squeak, arms held out at my sides, and just stood there as a beautiful, kind, and obviously very confused superhero hugged me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it. Stop putting yourself down. I swear, you and Amy are like peas in a pod with that shit.” She whispered in my ear, both arms around me. “You’re not ugly, dumb, or pathetic. Now hug me back and repeat what I just said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, afraid this was some kind of trick and not sure why she was being so nice, I put my arms around her. She squeezed me, and I carefully put my head on her shoulder as I repeated the foreign words back at her. We stood there for a few moments, and I tried not to think about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>First Allen and now...people keep hugging me. It feels weird. Must be something wrong with me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After we separated, she mock-angrily told me not to talk like that about myself anymore, or else I’d get similar treatment. I promised to be on my best behavior as we headed off again, having to shout to be heard over the grinding noise. It grew louder as we passed by a door with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maintenance</span>
  </em>
  <span> on it, and then she waved as we rounded a corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hullo Annabelle!” A man at least a decade older than me waved back, his security guard uniform giving me a momentary flashback to Bellows. He was just as loud, probably due to the noise, but seemed happier than the man had been. “What brings you out this way?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Accent back, she spun a tale of me being another of the people with that particular strain of the flu going around, despite no tests having been done to actually determine that. He laughed, then pulled out a radio and walked off. Winking at me, she opened a door beside us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about the subterfuge, but Jonesy there is a PRT guy playing a part, just like me. They really went all out on this! I feel like a spy.” Victoria giggled, ushering me inside. Just before closing the door, she whispered. “Play nice with the others, okay? Our ride will be here soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the door shut, locked, and I turned to see I wasn’t alone in the ‘waiting room.’ In fact, there were four others with me, and all of them had surgical masks on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They also had powers, but that didn’t really surprise me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the plus side, it was much quieter in here, but the silence made their stares sharper.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Great, lock the kid with anxiety in a room with four random strangers. Wait, I know two of them.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I shuffled closer, noting that there were six semi-comfortable chairs, three facing the other three. A coffee table covered in magazines, snacks, and water bottles was between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The trio of chairs closest to me only had one person in them, a black kid with big ears and a handheld game device in his hands. I was pretty sure he was wearing motorcycle leathers, but seemed to have a very strange pair of rollerblades under his seat. His hands looked...stained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three chairs across from him were full up, the middle one containing a pale boy who looked a few years older than me. He had dark hair, a piercing stare, and wore a suit. Eventually he sighed and closed his eyes, gripping the hand of the girl next to him as he sunk into his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl whose hand he was gripping may have been wearing a surgical mask, blonde wig, and green tracksuit, but I’d know those powers anywhere. I was just about to greet her when the last member of our group appeared in front of me. I’d barely seen her move, her head only coming up to my chest, and she easily dragged me over to sit next to rollerblade kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, but having you block the door like that was really bugging me.” She grumbled, running a hand through her short brown hair and retaking her seat. I stared back, pretty sure that she was blonde last time I saw her, then looked away as she glared at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>While I wonder why Vista is here, I’d much more like to know why that dude’s holding hands with-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, welcome to the party.” The subject of my thoughts, Amy Dallon, spoke up and waved with her free hand. After looking around, she asked, “So, now that everyone’s here, maybe we can introduce ourselves again? I guess you all already know who I am. Next?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yeah, I love meeting new people!” The guy next to me put his game device away in his overstuffed jacket and held out a hand. I took it, and he pumped it so many times I thought he was trying to make water come out of me. “Kickass to meet you, dude. They gave me the fake name Xavier Jones, but I’m really Trevor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, a fake name’s worthless when your name is written on your jacket.” Vista muttered, leaning forward and waving at me. Speaking of jackets, I noticed that she was wearing a familiar one that seemed a few sizes too big for her. “I’m Misty. Here to help protect and guide you all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, judging by how she’s been acting this whole time, it’s probably not a duty she chose.” The boy in the suit let go of Amy’s hand, ignoring the way Misty glared at him, and took my hand. He seemed very driven and direct, and had beautiful blue eyes. Almost immediately after letting go of me he took Amy’s hand again. “I’m Gareth. Pleasure to meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pleased to meet you all.” I smiled, then realized they couldn’t see my mouth, so I nodded instead. After several seconds of them staring at me, I coughed and cleared my throat. “Oh, sorry. Um, I’m Steve, er I mean, Greg! I’m kind of new at this, and kinda nervous. I...um...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence reigned once more, and I desperately grasped for a change of subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Amy...how long have you and Gareth been together?” She looked up sharply, and I felt my face heat up as the silence returned. I started to ramble nervously, “I mean, I saw you two holding hands and I just thought...er...I’m happy for both of you, of course...but...I mean...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? Jealous that I snatched her up before you had the chance?” Gareth pulled Amy’s limp hand to his chest, and his voice turned from confident to mocking. “Or did you forget that she uses her power by touching people? Wow, the first place your mind went was the gutter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I choked on my retort, feeling like I was going to die of embarrassment as Amy turned red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the others started laughing at me, and I felt myself shatter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gareth, Trevor, and Misty laughed, Amy stared, and I cringed...my first real interaction with other parahuman teens, already turned to crap in under a minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I should just leave, this was dumb. I’m dumb. Victoria was completely wrong...I am pathetic.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I stopped, closed my eyes, and tried to reset. To ignore the laughter, remind myself it was okay. Larry was helping me, Hobson had given me advice, and my family loved and supported me. I was better than this, and didn’t need to dwell on my mistakes...or run from confronting them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took a deep breath, even as the laughter suddenly died off, and opened my eyes to try again. I saw Amy had taken her mask off, released Gareth’s hand, and was openly glaring at everyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone except me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t funny.” Her words were like acid, both fists balled up as she practically spat words. “You’re supposed to be heroes, not bullies. Gareth, I know you’re not feeling well, and I’m sorry...but you’ve been acting like an asshole all morning. We talked about this, and I know that you’d want me to call you out even if we weren’t around other people. Apologize. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three muttered apologies in my direction, but it was Gareth who surprised me most. There was a look of shock on his face, what little I could see around his surgical mask, and he raised a trembling hand to his mouth as he turned to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg...I’m so sorry. I was trying to lighten the mood, but went way too far, can you forgive me?” I nodded at him and heard Amy mutter something, but it didn’t end there. I saw his arms shaking as he put his face in them, and even though he sounded scared he went on. “I know it’s not an excuse, but...I’m incredibly claustrophobic. Even with my meds, I’m scared out of my mind and keep saying dumb shit to distract myself. I’m sorry I lashed out at all of you, it was wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I know what that’s like. Holy crap, he’s me! I guess I can’t be too mad at him for being Greg-like. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, glancing around at the others, I could see them looking worried as well. Trevor kept focusing on his game device, Misty was practically hiding in her too-big jacket, and even Amy was hugging her arms and staring at her knees. They were all just as nervous as I was!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Gareth was still talking, and I hoped he hadn’t noticed my mind wander just now. “-and I hope you can all forgive me. It’s tough, waiting in a little room like this, considering where we’re going. Amy has been helping, using her powers on me. She’s a true hero, putting up with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, between him and your history of getting injured doing crazy stuff, I was happy that the PRT requested me.” Amy held out a hand, and Gareth visibly relaxed as they rejoined. “This lets me kill a few birds with one stone, and help my dear sister do some testing as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So she’s helping his symptoms, assisting Victoria with her own testing, and is here for...me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I forgive you, all of you. I mean, I’m pretty path-” I cut myself off, remembering what Victoria had said. Gareth had opened up to us, Amy had stood up for me, Misty had saved me from Julia...I was safe here. “I mean, I’m glad we’re here together. To support each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, conversation died off for the most part. Trevor played his game, Misty read a paperback book, and Amy had a whispered conversation with Gareth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes, I considered talking again...but wasn’t sure where to start.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First I looked at Misty, and that was a minefield of conversation topics. Sophia, her powers, the school, and the Wards were out. I considered thanking her for helping me at Winslow, but then I realized why her jacket looked so familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was wearing a Winslow Letter jacket, something I had always seen on football players. The way she was nestled in it made me wonder for a split second where it had come from, and then it hit me that there was only one Winslow student who could have given it to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or left it to her...when Sophia was sent away. Because of me. Maybe I’ll talk to someone else.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of Misty, I turned to Trevor. He seemed really exuberant, and looking at his powers I could see that he was a...Tinker? Something related to trains...movement? Either way, he was so engrossed in his game device that he didn’t even glance at me, so I turned my attention to Gareth. His powers were a lot easier to figure out, and were linked in an odd way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His power was a room. I couldn’t make out many of the details, but there was something about the walls that felt hazy. Like, one moment it was a small room, and then it was a huge palace. It felt a lot like some kind of variable size thing...like a power to create walls or bubbles?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What really confused me was the way he had another power </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> the first one. Specifically, the fireplace sitting in the room. It felt old and dusty, reminding me of one of Alec’s powers, and that made me wonder why Gareth wasn’t using one of his two powers. Shields and fire...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Also, why is one power inside the other? Is it like Amy and Velocity, where one needs the other?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking at me really hard there, Greg.” Gareth’s voice pulled me out of my inner thoughts, and I looked up to see him wink at me. “See something you like?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually I was...um…” I stammered, feeling my face heat up again. He slapped his forehead and started to apologize, but I tried to push ahead and play it cool. “Actually, I was jealous of Amy for getting to hold your hand. Are we all going to get a turn?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s…” I was afraid I’d gone too far, but he just laughed and shook his finger back and forth. “That’s a horrible pickup line, but I can do worse! Try this one on for size, it’s unbeatable…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I never thought I’d be sitting around with other teens, trading bad pickup lines and laughing. Amy had a few that she’d heard boys (and girls) use on her sister, Trevor had one some guy used on his mom, and even if Misty was younger than us she still helped us rate them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kept reminding myself that we were all nervous, and needed a distraction. Time flew by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I knew it, it was time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Victoria walked into the room, and I noted behind her that the security guard had been joined by a few others. One of them looked suspiciously like Kalpin, but with a very fake beard, and he winked at me as the door shut. Whatever was going on in the maintenance room now sounded like robots fighting each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, with a sound like a muffled thunderclap, a man in a blue uniform and cap appeared mere feet from us. He counted the six of us, nodded, and stepped a bit closer before...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, we were somewhere else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The walls and ceiling were cement, the floor looked like marble, and aside from a pair of sliding metal doors  on each of the four walls the room was empty. It got even more empty when Strider stepped away from us, nodded once, and then vanished with a loud pop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We were in a thirty foot cube, a door on each wall, and Gareth immediately got nervous. Vicky caught him as he stumbled, Amy whispered to him, Misty stood at the ready, and Trevor...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he was Trevor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, I can hardly wait to get started!” He sidled up to me, throwing an arm over my shoulder. “I’m gonna totally rock these tests. One hundred and ten percent, full stars, S++ ranking, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, I thought this wasn’t that kind of test?” I looked around nervously, but saw that the others were pretending not to have heard the boy. “I mean, this isn’t pass/fail or anything, it’s more like the Olympics. You see how far you can throw, how fast you can run, and so on. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, but you also don’t wanna do worse than everyone else, dude.” He scoffed, laughing at my dumbfounded expression. The loud boy leaned in close to me, “Hell, I heard a rumor on PHO that if you do badly enough...they blacklist you from the Wards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re kidding, right?” I stared at him, and he just shrugged. “Hey, I really-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the metal doors opened, interrupting me. I could see a long corridor on the other side, with colored lines on the floor angling off down a network of tunnels. But most of my attention was drawn to a man wearing a green lab coat. The fact that he had both wild hair and a moustache with a white streak running through it didn’t put any of us at ease. The man practically exuded the charm and appearance of a mad scientist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome, welcome all!” The man threw his arms wide, smiling with all his teeth and chuckling at us. “I’m Doctor Clayton Forrester, and I’m here to welcome you all to Power Testing!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the man walked around and looked us over, noting details on a clipboard, he gave us a rundown of the facility we had been transported to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently my lie about camping in Willowdale State Forest was at least partially true, since we were currently located beneath it. The other three doors each led to a series of tunnels that let out into various locations in the forest, but he had us lining up at the door he’d entered from. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back in 2007, after a series of dangerous events in Boston, Dragon and the PRT were in talks about making a Baby Birdcage. Dragon got permission to build a prototype here, combining ideas from Sphere with what she had learned about the construction of the Birdcage itself.” He stepped back, waving his arms around him as we took in the doors and walls. “The result was a secure underground location, only accessible via a few special tunnels, an elevator, and a few Tinkertech teleporters we carefully maintained. For moving non-living materials, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happens if you try to teleport living materials?” Trevor asked, then recoiled as Forrester puffed out his cheeks and slapped them, blowing a raspberry. “Dude...sick. But, kinda makes me want to build one myself. Maybe I’ll just test it on, like, bugs and stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That is exactly the sort of thing we’ll likely be testing today!” Forrester clapped his hands, grinning madly. “This lab is fully-stocked with a wide variety of tools, instruments, and scientists, most of whom live here in the habitat itself. Today will be a great day for science!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forrester held a finger to one ear and started muttering to someone. “Okay, we’re going to start letting them in now. Yes, I checked them out. Yes. Dang it, just push the button, Frank!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doors opened, and Forrester let Amy, Gareth, and Victoria go through, telling them to follow the purple line. After consulting his clipboard, he told Misty to follow the green line. Another pause, and he told Trevor to follow the purple line. Then he turned to me...and the door shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled goofily at me. “I didn’t want the others to know, but yours are the tests I’m secretly looking forward to the most, my boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My heart started to race, as Trevor’s words came back to me. “Is...is that so?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed! The possibilities for testing...” He flipped through his clipboard. “We don’t often see someone with copy powers, so we called in several special favors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My breath got short, and I gasped a little. “Special favors? L-like what? Who?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, just a few capes that don’t often help with this sort of thing. Strider for transport, a few former villains with unique powers, some heroes from far away...that sort of thing.” The man muttered, and I tried to remember the panic attack exercises Amy had taught me. “But no pressure or anything. I mean, sure it was costly and time-consuming…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My vision tunneled, and closing my eyes only made me feel like the room was spinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the most important thing is to have fun!” I opened my eyes, and gave him a nervous smile. “Just ignore all that pressure, and do your best. You’re looking forward to this, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I threw up on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doctor Forrester wasn’t nearly as mad as I expected him to be. He just laughed it off and told me that was why they had janitors...even annoying ones he wished he could shoot into space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led me through a series of hallways full of bustling scientists, and into a large common room. It looked like they had food, refrigerators, couches, and tables set up, as well as several doors set into the walls. I entered one of them at his suggestion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights flickered on as the door shut, and I could see that there was a bed, a dresser, and a curtained off bathroom area. The bed had some kind of jumpsuit (black and white), as well as documents and a badge. As I changed into the jumpsuit, I started reading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Essentially, I would use the badge as a door key, as well as for snacks, bathrooms, and other amenities while on the premises. The jumpsuit had sensors that tracked my respiration, heart rate, and a whole bunch of other stuff. There was even a cowl with goggles in it, covering me from the nose up, to allow them to scan my brain.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But none of that is really making me feel less nervous. If anything, I feel even worse, now!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Dressed in my fancy jumpsuit, masked, with my badge on a loop around my neck, I now had thousands of dollars on me. They’d spent so much time and money preparing for all of us, me especially from the sound of it, and I was shaking like a leaf. What if I screwed up? What if they got bad readings because I was too nervous to test correctly? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I almost tripped, coming out of my room, idly noting that the number above my door matched my badge and realizing that this was my room now. I was looking back at it as I walked away, and- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, pardon me!” Naturally, I ran into someone, and would have fallen if a beefy hand hadn’t whipped out and caught me. I looked up into the face of a tall, older man in what appeared to be a dark jumpsuit, his bright eyes sparkling. The gray spit-curl on his head bounced in place as he nodded at me. “I guess we’re both just so eager to get started, we bumped into each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, I was the one who hit you. I was trying to...I mean, I’m sorry, Mister…” I looked at his name tag, seeing </span>
  <em>
    <span>T.V. / Frank</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He had a haze around him, so he must have been a parahuman as well. “Mr. Frank? Wait, are you the one who let us inside? I’m really sorry!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, don’t worry about it Steve, and there’s no Mister. You can call me Terminal Velocity, TV, Frank, TV’s Frank...really anything.” I glanced down at my badge, which had my fake name on it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I heard from all the mad scientists that I was a bundle of nerves back when I got Power Testing. I feel you, pal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, um...if it’s not too much trouble.” Despite us being alone, I lowered my voice a little. “I have really hardcore test anxiety...and fear of failure. Knowing how you got through yours would really help a lot. Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gosh, wish I could help you Steve, but my brain gets weaker as my body gets stronger. Heck, back when I first got my powers, my parachute failed and...then I woke up in a crater. It’s one of the reasons I became a researcher instead of a hero, actually.” He scratched his cheek, blushing and looking away. “Unfortunately, I don’t remember most of my testing. I’m really sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay.” I started to turn around, but felt his hand stop me, just as gently as before. “Huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you know, just because I can’t help you is no reason to give up.” His eyes twinkled, and Frank tilted his head. “This facility is full of scientists, heroes, and teens, including the ones you arrived with. Why not ask them? After all, we’re all human at our cores. We’re all just people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frank’s words resonated with something in me, and I felt a little bit braver.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Okay, let’s see what kind of advice I can get!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>*************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: An extra-big chapter, but with a lot more than just a bunch of silly tests! We’ve got a nervous protagonist surrounded by other teens and a pile of guest stars. Anyone can throw a bunch of numbers and statistics out there, so instead I’ll make this the most therapeutic Power Testing chapter you’ll ever see!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0041"><h2>41. 3.2: Learning to Be Brave</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Dr. Vasquez Email Question:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> I couldn’t help but notice how nervous you got when I gave you these questions, even after I told you there were no wrong answers. Why?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Greg:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> Tests in school always bothered me, and I suppose that never went away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The teacher spends weeks feeding material into your mind. Books, videos, class discussions, and plenty of homework to let you practice with it. Then the tests come...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Quizzes, Tests, Midterms, Finals...all so you can prove that the effort that was put into you actually meant something. Do well, and you move forward. Do badly, and you get punished, or held back. So of course we do everything we can to succeed, and double our effort if we fail.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>But the problem is, even if you can retake tests...you can never hide the fact that failures stick with you. Not just your permanent record or transcript, but the mark they leave on your life. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The time wasted relearning things, the opportunities missed, the friends that move on.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m a hero now. So I have to learn to be brave...no matter how scary failure is. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s okay for me to be afraid, but I can’t give up anymore.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People are depending on me, now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, January 15, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I found Trevor in a small workshop, chatting with Armsmaster about shields. The hero handed some notes to him, nodded at me, and then left. As I started asking my question, Trevor plopped down at a table and I tried to ignore the fact that Armsmaster had stopped to listen in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Afraid of failure?” Trevor grinned at me and laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m not afraid of failure, dude...I embrace it! Failure’s what tells me I need to try something else, or ask for help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was fiddling with some electronics, trying to graft them onto his rollerblades in a way that made no sense to me. It was tempting to copy his power, just for some insight into his process, but instead I focused on his story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One time, about three years ago, I was skating down at the abandoned hotel on 33rd Street, in their nasty old pool. It hadn’t rained in weeks, so it was prime skating time, and all the cool kids were there.” He used a screwdriver to simulate what I guess was supposed to be skating. “They gave me a shot, so after a few pumps and some fakies, I figured it was time to go for the big money. I got up some speed and went for an invert...but totally ate pavement.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned back from his work and showed me a small set of scars going from his ear down to his chin, barely visible in the light.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My old lady was pissed, and the doc told me if I hadn’t had a helmet I’da been in the morgue. But when I went back to the pool, everyone was glad I was fine. They told me that I had to work up my arms and shoulders more.” He showed me another scar, this one on his arm. “Got this on my second try, and by the third time I nailed it! All because I was willing to fail.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held up his skates, put them on, and then showed me both his hands as he skated around the room (and up the wall) before heading out. His hands looked like he’d put them in a blender and washed them in chemicals, but he seemed proud of them. “Dude, failure’s what made me the Tinker I am today! It’s awesome, yo!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt a little better, and saw that Armsmaster was smiling. I could understand why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, we now know that excess use of a Thinker or Tinker power results in a cumulative confusion, and that memory loss is limited to the period of time after which the power was copied.” Forrester paced (and occasionally hopped) around the craters that peppered the floor. “Now that we’ve had a break, let’s take yet another attempt at combining a Thinker and Tinker power into one that has a specific, focused purpose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the man’s words, and the array of cool tools before me, the vast number of failed attempts thus far were starting to wear on me. My Tinker wasn’t helping...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we done yet?” Speaking up again, the Tinker who had been introduced as ‘Fuse’ reminded us that she was bored, a Boston accent evident. She had a pair of PRT guards on her, as well as a brawny guy sitting beside her. He elbowed her and she rolled her eyes. “Sorry, but they won’t even let me play with any of those toys...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though I’d never seen her before, her power and the wide assortment of explosives before me were all the hints I needed. Add in a glimpse at her unnamed companion’s powers, and I now knew that Uber and Bakuda (Fuse) hadn’t died a week ago. Rather, they were helping the PRT?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While I don’t agree with her tone, I do wonder the same thing.” Perhaps a few years younger than her counterpart, the Thinker in our experiment was much more familiar to me, even if this was also the first time I was seeing her in person. Flechette’s power, or at least the one I was copying, had been some sort of targeting power. “What seems to be the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s like this.” I put down the grenade I had been staring at, and picked up a throwing knife. With a flick of my wrist the knife was sent into a nearby target. It was like having an aimbot in a first person shooter, and I regretted that I’d probably never pull this off without powers. “Your power gives me perfect aim and timing, and Bak...Fuse’s lets me make and use explosives.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But the problem, as I understand it, is that you are trying to...mix them?” Flechette crossed the room, picking up one of the normal grenades from the table. She passed it from hand to hand, then with only a glance tossed it into a concrete box that had been set up thirty feet away. Had it been live, the fluids and gel a dozen feet down would have dampened the boom. “So, you have her technical skill, my martial skill, and...what’s the problem?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem was, when the powers came together, parts of each had been pruned out. Right now I was staring at a grenade, and absolutely no ideas were coming to me. I knew Grenade Launchers, I knew C4, I knew all kinds of things...but ordinary grenades were making me draw a blank. Worse, I could throw knives, but now Flechette’s power was doing nothing for grenades.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I explained this to her, I reached into my core, unblended the powers, and then mashed them together again. One positive to come of this experiment was discovering I could unblend powers, and recombine them to get a slightly different power...but nothing seemed to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was exactly what I’d been afraid of. I couldn’t focus, I didn’t understand these powers, and I was just wasting everyone’s time, money, and patience. What could I learn...from...failure...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have an idea.” Trevor’s words ran through my head, and I gestured for Flechette to follow as I walked towards Uber and Fuse. Everyone stared at me, but I ignored them as I sat down on one of the folding chairs that had been left near my former-villain guests. “Hey, can we talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The hell do you want?” Fuse started before Uber elbowed her again, and she hissed at him, “You do that again, and I’ll rip that arm off and beat you with it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, if it’ll get me a badass metal arm like Gun Guy, sign me up!” He grinned, holding an arm out as she glowered at him. I froze, then shook it off as Uber turned to me. “Sorry, what’s up?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I’m sorry to waste your time, but I’m having trouble understanding Fuse’s power. This may sound kind of strange, but can you tell me how it...feels?” I’d been afraid that she’d get even more annoyed, or worse that she’d laugh at me, but instead that had the opposite effect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuse’s shoulders relaxed, and she launched into an explanation of how bombs were like mathematics. Uber joined in, and even Flechette talked about timing and bank shots. I started to see their powers more clearly, and moved to the table of explosives as we kept going...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>If I put the powers together like this, because the shape and mass of the grenade affects…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...I need a smaller screwdriver, but also I should grab this electrical impact fuse…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>...the M33 doesn’t have a fragmentation coil, but the prescored inner wall makes up for…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fire in the hole!” I shouted, pulling the pin and barely even looking. I felt like the grenade was an extension of my arm, like the power was unique to me, despite being two copies, and it-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>BOOM</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!” I high-fived Fuse, feeling like I understood her a little better as well. As things were set up for the next test, I caught her eye and leaned in. “Um...I heard Uber say ‘Gun Guy’ earlier. That’s a unique name. Can you tell me about him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wanna know about my brother?” She laughed, a smile spreading across her face as an eyebrow went up. “Kid, I think I’m starting to like you. Okay, so first of all, his badass arm-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was kind of strange, but I was happy that my old ‘foe’ was doing well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just a moment.” Gareth’s eyes were closed, and I could see a sweat had broken out on his brow. Amy was holding his hand, her eyes closed in concentration as she did something to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, but now that his tests are over, Gareth asked me to help him sleep.” Amy explained, and I saw the boy visibly relax as she released his hand. “I just gave him a booster of Zoloft, so he can actually sleep down here without getting too worried.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On that note, I’m going to go take a nap.” Gareth stood, accepting my hand as he wavered for a moment. His grip was strong, and he smiled as I helped him to his room. “I wish I could answer your question, but I’m the wrong person to ask. I barely kept it together knowing I was underground, in a concrete box. I’m far less brave than you think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope you feel better.” I muttered, unsure how to react to someone else putting himself down like I always did. “For what it’s worth, I think by coming out here at all you were really brave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well if it helps, Amy gave me a lot of good advice on handling my nerves, so you should ask her.” He grinned at me, shaky though it was. “Besides, considering you were flirting with both of us earlier, this is your chance to make a move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door shut before I could correct him, and I turned to see Amy staring at me. I held up both hands, then gingerly sat down next to her and explained, “I wasn’t flirting. Sorry. Um…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s okay. We talked about it earlier, and he really is sorry about doing that all the time.” She looked down at her knees, then hung her head and muttered, “I do it, too. Sometimes I say mean stuff to try and change the subject. I’m trying to stop, but bad habits are hard to break.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Victoria caught me dumping on myself earlier, threatened to squeeze the life out of me if I didn’t stop.” I laughed, and saw her ears go pink. Her sister had probably given her the same ‘threat’ as well. “I’m not sure if she knows that ‘hugs’ are kind of a crappy threat, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, that’s my fault. My new therapist talked to her and Carol, and now they’re being all...ugh. I’m such a bitch for saying it, but they’re being too damn nice.” She complained, then started to ramble as she put her face in her hands. “Victoria stopped setting me up on blind dates, but now she won’t leave me alone! None of them will! It feels...</span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Other people need help, not me! I’m wasting their time, but they keep being there and talking to me and it...it feels so...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...smothering? Yeah, I’ve only had one therapy appointment, and already I’m worried he’s being too nice to me. Everyone is. Like, supposedly this is ‘normal,’ but for me it just feels strange. It’s scary.” My voice shook, and I felt her hand touch mine. “Sorry, forgot who I was talking to. I kept thinking it was all in my head, but...it’s not just me, is it? Thanks. For listening to me whine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No prob. Thanks for listening to me bitch.” She leaned against me, and we just sat there for a few moments before she chuckled. “Hey, maybe that’s some good advice for dealing with failure? Not everyone defines </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal </span>
  </em>
  <span>the same way, so maybe not everyone defines </span>
  <em>
    <span>failure </span>
  </em>
  <span>the same either? What you may see as failure, others might see as a tiny success.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“True, and I know a lot about failure.” I gasped as she squeezed my hand really hard, and turned to see her glaring at me. “Sorry! It’s a really hard habit to break. Geez, why can’t you be like your sister and hug me when I screw up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re a team. She’s the carrot.” Amy flicked my ear, giggling. “I’m the stick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, but it’s just...not there anymore, you know?” I waved my hand, and Tecton nodded as if he understood perfectly. The cyclopean eye in the middle of his helmet glowed at me, and I felt like it was staring into my soul. “It’s not even hazy...it’s just gone. Sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The PRT had built a small concrete shack for this test, and the two of us had been trading off using his equipment to scan its contents. Each time, with his Thinker power in my core, I got a perfect image in my mind of the contents of the shack. Then I’d return to the table and have the fun task of sketching out a three-dimensional drawing of the room I had scanned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem was the final part of the test...removing the power from my core and trying to draw the room without it. This was now the tenth time I had failed. It appeared as though knowledge I gained as a Thinker was almost useless after I dropped the power. So, my dreams of getting my GED or learning a dozen languages were out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apologizing to the researchers and accepting a pat on the back from Tecton, I trudged back to the common room. My next test wasn’t for ten minutes, so I could…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-but I really prefer a solid bass line, because it means that...oh hey, Steve!” A familiar voice called out just before I ran into its owner, and I looked up to see Weld. The Boston Ward was talking to a tall, costumed brunette I’d never seen before, and I could hear music coming from the headphones the two had been sharing. “Auroch, this is the guy I was telling you about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Earlier, one of my tests had involved trying to see what made Case 53s...what they were. I had hoped to see whatever gave them amnesia, or some extra power that changed their forms, but instead I’d just seen his powers. Even as he used them, nothing jumped out at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Weld’s powers had been represented by what looked like a teenage blacksmith, with one hand (Power 1) shaping his body and the other (Power 2) pushing metal into himself and having parts fall out as it replaced them. It was creepy, but had done nothing to actually help.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I described it the best I could, but...I wish I could have done more. I feel terrible. I failed him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, Weld...I’m sorry I got your hopes up. I wanted to be able to help you, but instead I just-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Are you kidding me?” The metal teenager practically knocked me over patting me on the back, and then caught me with his other hand. “Dude, that blacksmith’s face might have been mine! My metal body might have come from me replacing my original flesh with metal! I mean, it didn’t give me my memories back and was a shot in the dark, but it gave me hope. Thanks!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? But I failed!” I glanced at Auroch, but she’d already wandered off. I looked down again, sighing and lowering my voice. “One of my best friends is a Case 53...I wanted to...help her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I can’t speak for everyone, but people like me will take any scrap we can get, and you just gave me a whole meal.” Weld laughed, and tore off a patch of his arm, handing it to me. A strip of metal had his autograph on it, and looked at him with confusion. “Tell you what, if you ever get a name besides ‘Steve’ and a costume besides that jumpsuit, come to Boston and look me up. In the meantime, you don’t just have one Case 53 friend...now you have </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite Weld’s words, I was still worried about this next test. It was going to involve two capes who had been teleported in from Los Angeles, and this time I was afraid that I-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, I can’t enjoy this drum solo with you fretting over there like a Tinker-built electric guitar.” Auroch hopped off the couch and crossed to me, where I’d been pacing a hole into the carpet. She tore her headphones off, letting out music that was so loud I could hear it from a good distance away, and I took in her odd costume. It looked like a mix of a skintight white bodysuit, golden brown armor on her limbs, and a bull-looking helmet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just being dumb and pathetic. J-just ignore me.” She laughed, and I started to walk away, but found that it was hard to move away from her. By the time I realized that this was probably her power at work, she’d already skipped around to stand in front of me. “It’s silly, but I’m afraid of succeeding at my next test. My power’s unique, and I’m afraid that if I do well I’ll...change.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Change? Like what? How is being strong and successful bad?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Back when I first got my powers, I was...kind of an egomaniacal asshole. I thought I could do everything, wanted to solve all my problems with powers, and...I kinda failed hard.” I blushed, looking away as I saw her smile, and pressed onwards. “I’m afraid that if I do too well today, then it’ll be like a slippery slope. That I’ll get overconfident, and that other capes will hate-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, did you know that I’m more powerful than my dad?” She interrupted, then leaned in closer and started to talk in a low voice. “He taught me everything I know, and for a long time I was sandbagging...because I didn’t want him to feel bad. I mean, I’m a hot teenager with mad music skills, and he’s just a funny fatass. When I was a kid, I thought that he might feel like crap if he found out that I’d outpaced him in everything, so I held back. Even during power testing...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t that dangerous?” I asked, and saw her face fall for a moment. Afraid I’d insulted her, I quickly added, “I mean, I’m not one to talk, considering some of the dumb things I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude! You seriously need to stop shitting on yourself.” She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it, then leaned in close to whisper in my ear. “The fact that you’re worried about </span>
  <em>
    <span>becoming</span>
  </em>
  <span> a shitlord is a good sign that you’re not there yet, so have some faith in yourself. Also, don’t interrupt my goddamn story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I silently nodded, and she just smiled. She spun so we were facing the same direction, and threw an arm over my shoulder before spreading the other out in front of us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where was I? Oh yeah, power testing. So, Dad noticed I was being weak on purpose, and got me to tell him why. He just laughed, then said that because he trained me and raised me...everything I do is reflected on him anyway. So if I’m strong, he feels stronger, and if I fail, then he knows he needs to try harder. Even when we’re apart, we’ll always be a team.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I told her that her dad sounded like an awesome person, and Auroch laughed. As my phone buzzed, she began to walk alongside me to the test. She promised me that if I did well those two LA capes would be proud of having helped me, and if not they’d help me find a way to make it work. When I tried to ask how she knew, she just started telling me stories about her dad.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then we got to the test, I met her father, Chubster...who completely lived up to the hype.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of all the tests I had taken so far, this one was certainly the strangest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the middle of the room was a Green X that had been painted on the floor, and standing atop it was Chubster. The overweight cape was posing and flexing as Auroch shouted encouragement at him from beside me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chubster seemed completely unconcerned by what appeared to be a high-powered pitching machine, capable of flinging baseballs at 100 miles per hour. How did we know their speed? Well, because prior to the test’s start the machine had fired ten balls at a target on the wall. Each hit registered at 100 mph, according to a sensor above the target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that Chubster was there, he activated his power, which made him tougher in direct opposition to his movement. By remaining motionless, he was soon able to lift a hand and catch the baseball without even a wince. But the real reason for the test was the dampening field he put out that slowed projectiles and objects around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ball was reduced to 20mph. Ten pitches, ten 20mph hits. So it was an 80% reduction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I took his place, copied his power, and we discovered that my copy made the pitch travel at...80mph. My copies were 25% as strong as the original.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, the balls began to slow even more, as my skin felt tighter than usual. My mouth got dry, and my joints stiffened. By pitch number six it was 75mph. Then 70mph. Eventually it was 60mph, and stayed that way for several pitches. So, 50% was my streamlining limit?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I released the power, and felt as if my bones had turned to jelly. Then I bent over and vomited into a bucket, one that a researcher happily ran off to test. It wasn’t the first time I’d barfed today (hell, this was my third jumpsuit), but it wasn’t just dropping the power that made me throw up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the part of the test I had been dreading... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I copied the power from both Auroch and Chubster, two very similar powers, and blended them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I waited a minute, I closed my eyes and tried not to think about how I was trying to prove my power was stronger than either of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ball shot out, after I’d had a minute of motionlessness...and I looked at the readout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>5 miles per hour...I dropped the power in shock, falling to my knees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried not to think about how strong I was. Instead, I remembered what Auroch had said, how she’d promised not to be mad. How nice her dad was, and how I had to stay grounded and not turn into an asshole. The way that their power made me stronger, and I owed them-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t have time to worry past that thought, because I was tackled by two heroes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Auroch and Chubster lifted me in the air, cheering...and I felt proud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-appreciate it.” I said, sitting nervously on the common room couch. “Any advice would help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re already doing what I would have advised, which is asking for help.” Misty flopped down next to me on the couch, crossing her arms and looking away. “I’ve got this really stupid friend, and she was once in a lot of trouble, but she didn’t ask for help. She just fucked around like an idiot, only calling me at the last second. Now I’m here and she’s…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Misty trailed off, then grimaced and started to stand. Nervous, I quickly stood with her and blurted the words I had been wanting to say for hours, “I’m sorry about Sophia!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what?” Misty stopped mid-step, then turned and crowded me until my back hit the wall. “What the hell makes you think I was talking about...how do you even...who the hell are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you don’t remember me. I mean, the last time you saw me I was covered in blood and tocking ike dish, cause mah mouf wuf bufted.” I garbled the last few words, and saw her eyes light up with recognition. She backed off, realizing who I was, and I slid down the wall to sit on the floor. “Thanks, by the way. You really saved my ass from Julia. She was gonna…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem? Wait, so you were the kid Sophia was supposed to…?” She sat next to me, wrapping her arms around her knees. “Why are you apologizing? It wasn’t your fault.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to talk, slowly and carefully. About confronting Sophia after following her. About her pep-talk. About running away when she was being attacked. Despite all that, Misty still didn’t seem that angry at me. If anything, she started smiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! I knew that for all her bullshit, she was still a decent person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I’m still part of the reason she’s gone.” I gestured at Misty’s too-large Winslow letter jacket, Sophia’s name stitched on the front. “She’s gone, and now all we have are memories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pfft, please. She’s not gone. She’s just in the Philly Parahuman Asylum for a month or so, until she gets her head out of her ass.” Misty swatted my arm, her too-long sleeve whapping me. “As for the jacket, I’m just keeping it warm for her. To help me remember how awesome she was.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No wonder they became friends. They both have the same never-say-die attitude.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“After all, when things went to hell, she called me for help </span>
  <em>
    <span>first</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She stood and stretched, walking away. “So that’s my advice: Ask for help. People are stronger together, every time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember, you need a location.” Strider’s voice was a little raspy, and he looked kind of tired. He’d been moving a lot of people around today, and I had made a point to thank him. He just smiled at me, and told me that kids like me (and a paycheck) made it all worth it. “Focus entirely on where you want to be. Every detail, every blade of grass, every smell, everything...then...go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a loud pop, he vanished and reappeared a hundred feet away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding at him, I looked around and found a dent in the wall. I examined it closely, taking care to build a picture in my mind of every crack in it, the feeling of standing on the floor, and the smell of ozone near the vent above me. I returned to my previous location, closed my eyes, focused on those details, and…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>When I opened my eyes, I was there, beside the dent. I let out a whoop, but that was only the first part of the test. The scientists directed us both to return to our previous locations.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, one pop later, Strider was in Maine. Or at least, that was where he said he was going. I was testing to see if my copy would vanish from him being too far away. But after another focus session and flex of my power, I was back at the dent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I celebrated, I overheard one of the scientists saying I should have teleported further away. I tried to think of where else I could go. My room was out of the question, obviously. Winslow, no. The playground, no. Where else did I know a location really well?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, I considered a room that had been described to me in great detail fairly recently. Sveta, over the course of a long chat, had given me every little detail about her room at the Asylum, and even the view from her room. I felt like I could just reach out, connect to it, and be there in the blink of an eye.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because I knew that it would be wrong. She was a very private person, and nervous about her appearance. I’d already spent weeks hating myself and how I looked, so for her it was probably worse. If I just popped in there, it would scare her. Hurt her. I couldn’t do that to my friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So I released the power, and trudged out of the testing room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as Strider clapped me on the shoulder, I still felt terrible. Maybe I could find a computer to chat with Sveta? Hell, she’d mentioned her therapist’s name, maybe-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Strider?” I asked, stopping the blue-coated cape. “I hate to ask, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry to call you away from any business, um ma’am…” I nervously looked at my feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jessica Yamada.” She held out a hand, and I nervously shook it. Not wasting a moment, she put a hand on my shoulder and guided me down the hallway. As if she knew exactly where she was going, she helped me into a small empty room with a table and some chairs. The door closed loudly, and we sat. “I had been planning to talk to you for a while...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried not to look at her, worried about her wrath. I’d probably put Sveta in danger more than once, gotten her involved in plenty of dumb stuff, and now I was pulling her out of her work at the Asylum for a stupid request. She was probably- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, Greg.” She smiled at me, far kinder than I’d expected. “I actually wanted to thank you, so this is a welcome opportunity. Sveta has been far happier and more outgoing since you two started on your little project together. Although I have to repeat her opinion that writing your life as self-insert fanfiction was monumentally stupid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I already deleted those files.” I blushed, unsurprised that Sveta’s doctor knew about our project. “I’m just glad I could help her, she’s done so much for me. In fact, while I’m thinking about it...is there any way I can get a mailing address for her, so I can send her stuff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stuff?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...” I leaned forward and handed her the strip of metal I’d gotten from Weld. “For instance, today I met a really cool hero, Weld, and remembered she said she liked him. I think she’d really love this more than I would. She’s a pretty hardcore fangirl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yamada looked at the metal signature, letting it catch the light, then gave me an address.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you can’t talk about Sveta or her treatment...but if there’s anything I can do to help her more than I am, please tell me. I owe her more than I can ever repay, and I’m…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the next few minutes, the two of us talked about a lot of things. I knew she wasn’t my therapist, but she seemed to catch on pretty quick that I was feeling some amount of anxiety. As our talk drew to a close, she placed a hand on my shoulder and began to recite something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If the future scares you more than the present, focus on the now. If the problems of the present seem impossible, consider how much more possible they’ll be in the future. Someday, you will be stronger, smarter, more experienced, and have more support. Focus on that, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded, trying to commit the words to memory and wondering where she’d heard them. She told me that she’d be around for another few hours, and to come back to this room if I needed help again. I thanked her, feeling a lot better, and headed back to the common room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I got there I saw Misty, looking annoyed at something, and the last part of Yamada’s advice ran through my head...about having support. Much as I hated Sophia for what she did to Taylor and I, if Misty was right...she was at an Asylum right now trying to get better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hoping I wasn’t overstepping somehow, I walked Misty to Yamada’s room, then left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Later, she punched me in the shoulder out of nowhere, muttering, “Thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked really happy though, so I forgave her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite Yamada’s advice, I was still really worried about my last test of the day. I was going to be doing something I’d considered impossible, and I jokingly asked if I could phone a friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Six rings later, and Theo picked up. It sounded like he was indoors, and I hoped I hadn’t interrupted him. On the other hand, given that he was spending the weekend with his father, maybe an interruption was a good thing? Either way, he sounded happy to hear me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sniffling now and then to sell the lie, I explained that I apparently wasn’t too sick to take a placement test for Arcadia that I’d missed earlier. I said I was worried about failure... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I know a lot about being afraid, Greg.” I heard him moving around, and what sounded like papers fluttering. “I know it’s kind of selfish, but hearing you say that you feel fear actually makes me feel a lot better. I mean, I’m a big ball of failure and fear, so hearing that you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theo, please stop for a moment.” I interrupted him, then lowered my voice. “Look, I’m not going to shower you with compliments, or tell you to stop feeling bad sometimes. But I want you to know that I’m never going to think the worst of you, no matter how much you say it. Because I know that at your core, for all your fears and failures, you’re just like me...a kid trying his best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo was silent for a long moment, and I heard leather creak as he sat down. “Thanks, Greg. I’m glad you’re always putting up with me. All of you. Sorry...you called me for advice and all I did was bring you down and force </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to give </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> advice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re friends, Theo. That means it’s always going to be give and take. I’m sure you’ll be there for me next time I make a dumb joke about wanting to be sick.” I let out another fake cough, and rasped, “I really should have known better than to tempt fate, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed, and I was hard pressed not to join in. After a few seconds, he settled down. “Greg, what I was saying earlier was that knowing others have fears, anxiety, and worries as well, it makes me feel...less alone. It makes me stronger, knowing that other people feel like I do. Like I’m on a team, instead of standing by myself. Like I have support, instead of-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to agree with him, remembering what I’d said to Amy earlier, but then I heard his phone crackle. I worried that I had lost my connection somehow. “Theo? Are you still there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theo had to step away for a moment.” A rich, cultured voice came from the phone, and I nearly dropped it in shock. “This is his father. Perhaps you can tell me...how do you know my son?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next minute was spent doing my best to recover from my surprise, and trying to paint Theo in the best light possible. The vast majority of what I said was true; he was honest, kind, and always looking out for his friends. I knew they didn’t get along, so I was trying to help...but I might have laid it on a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> thick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he asked about the gangs, most notably about the E88, and I grinned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we had a lot of ABB kids at Winslow, and a few E88, but usually they kept each other occupied. But at Arcadia, E88 kids are a lot better hidden.” I paused, knowing that this was where Theo shined the brightest. “But Theo told us how they used to mess with him, how much he hated them, and helped us avoid those nazi scumbags. We’re lucky to have him as a friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Max’s voice was warm, and I knew he was probably glowing with pride at his son’s selfless acts. Protecting friends from nazis...what parent wouldn’t be proud of that? “Well, thank you for being such good friends with my son. I must go now, my business needs me. Good day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man hung up, and I had to admit I felt a lot better. I had a test to get to, a really tough one, but I walked with a spring in my step. I may have been afraid, but I wasn’t alone anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, let’s take this from the top.” Forrester clapped his hands and I rose to my feet, our break over. “Our preliminary data suggests that this should work. This combination of parahumans has the greatest degree of synergy, we just need to figure out how to make the pieces fit together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked at the three capes in front of me (Prism, Ursa Aurora, and Horizon), glanced back at the one behind me (Chevalier), then tried to put all my failures out of my head. Forrester was right! There was no reason to imagine that this was impossible. It was just the unknown...scaring me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I now knew that two similar powers blended easily, and became stronger than their originals. I knew that I could pull a blended power apart, and re-blend it to try for a different focus. Finally, I had long since learned that blended powers felt more...solid in my core than normal ones. Mine wasn’t just a power of copying, it was a power of blending!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite that, I kept screwing it up. The test was simple! All I had to do was copy two powers and blend them, then copy a third power and blend it in as well. Why was this so difficult? Why wasn’t it working? Why was I so limited? Most of all, who was whispering behind me?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I spun around and saw Chevalier, whisper-shouting with Mouse Protector of all people. She finally groaned theatrically, kicked his shin, and shoved him at me, then walked away. I felt my face heat up, knowing that two awesome heroes had been watching me fail this whole time...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, sir. I can’t get it to work, and it </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>work. I feel like I’m just wasting everyone’s time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, that was the reason she was shouting at me to come talk to you.” My face must have fallen, because he leaned in and put his hand on my shoulder. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. Let me try again. Seeing what you’re doing, it kind of reminded her of something...silly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While the others waited patiently, he told me a short tale of how he made his famous cannon blade. It had been simple in theory...combining a mechanical sword, a cutting sword, and a lightweight sword. But he’d still spent far more time, money, and effort on it than he’d ever thought possible. Two blades came together easily, but adding a third always led to failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the end, one of his best friends had suggested he was overcomplicating things. It was a little embarrassing, but he told me that since his power required him to touch things...she had suggested he put his foot on one sword, grab a sword in each hand, and bring the two down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so you made your awesome sword with your feet? That’s...” I trailed off, laughing, and he joined me. Turning around, I smiled at the three capes. “Sorry, about that, but I think I know what to do. Maybe I’ve been limiting </span>
  <em>
    <span>myself</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Can I see you use your powers, one more time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Prism grinned, and with a flash of light was suddenly three copies of herself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Clone Trio...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Ursa Aurora nodded, and with a gesture created three bear-shaped force-beasts. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bear-energy...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Horizon’s eyes glowed, and I could see her power flicking between three vision types. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tri-sight...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Trying to ignore how odd it felt, I reached out...not with </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> mental hands, but with </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span>! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each touched a power, each copied a power, and even as I felt an odd pressure in my mind…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three powers combined into my core, becoming </span>
  <em>
    <span>one</span>
  </em>
  <span> power. Everything </span>
  <em>
    <span>shifted</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, I was seeing through three sets of eyes, besides my own. Looking around, I could see three clones of myself standing in a triangle around me, as if guarding me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a crackling blue aura around each, and it tapered off into what looked like glowing claws at their fingertips and feet. At a mental order from me, one bent down and sliced through the floor just to watch the concrete spray up. It had cut easily, as if it was wet clay.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Being a Master/Thinker/Brute is amazing! Getting tired though, better get to the Horizon test.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>One clone easily called out the words on a small eye chart nearly a hundred feet away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another looked through a concrete wall, and reported the number of people on the other side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last moved to one of the doctors, and told her she had a cavity in one of her molars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughing, I held out a hand, and the three clones moved in and slapped it. Their claws didn’t even scratch me, and each vanished in a flash. I felt a surge of vigor, and quickly sped across the room to punch a straw target, blasting it to bits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I dropped the Triple-Blended power, and caught my breath as everyone cheered.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Three powers! Could I do four? Five? Ten? Maybe I’m not as limited as I thought...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, Trevor approached me just before I turned in. We were all exhausted, but he looked worried. Even before he could apologize, I told him it was okay...that although he might have scared me, he was also one of the reasons I had gotten through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he asked how I thought I did, and I remembered his own brave words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I totally rocked it,” I grinned. “One hundred and ten percent, full stars, S++ ranking, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*******************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: The results of Greg’s tests, new friends going on to other adventures, and a return to normalcy. Plus, how’s Theo doing after Greg’s help?</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0042"><h2>42. 3.3: Learning to Be a Friend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Dr. Vasquez Email Question:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> You said that you didn’t have any friends, and yet at our first meeting you also mentioned several people you spent a lot of time talking to Sveta, Taylor, Allen, Theo, Amy, and Victoria. Why do you have trouble calling them ‘Friend?’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Greg:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span>  Since childhood I've been putting people into a sort of spectrum that goes: Unknown, Acquaintance, Friend, Family. As you can guess, Family is family and Unknown are all the people I don’t know. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The two in the middle are the tough part. An Acquaintance is someone that has the bare minimum of a connection to you. You know each other’s name, face, and interests, and...that’s about it. Meanwhile, Friends trust and help each other, who make each other happy. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Every person who I’ve ever tried to move from Acquaintance to Friend has rejected me, and I always knew it was my fault. Most of my attempts alienated them, and they usually ended up as Unknowns. One way or another, I end up sabotaging myself, because I’m a terrible friend.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I have a really bad habit of getting desperate with people, reading too much into their kindness. Assuming they're a friend, when they didn't see me that way, and losing everything if I say it out loud. That's why I walk on eggshells around the people you listed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Taylor, Theo, Allen, all of them...I worry about losing what we have. Whatever it is, I don't want to screw it up by being...me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m afraid that someday, I’m going to make a mistake or say the wrong thing.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And then I’ll be alone again, and it’ll be all my fault.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, January 16, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The morning after testing was a lot like a wrap party. One of the big testing rooms had been cleared out and cleaned up, and there was a huge continental breakfast for everyone. For the first time since I’d arrived, I finally grasped the full scope of just how many researchers, parahumans, and teenagers were here, and it nearly made me lose my balance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, dude, you need another few hours of sleep?” Trevor caught me, putting his arm behind my back and propping me up. “From what I heard, you really went all out yesterday!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kidding, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Steve</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Misty smirked at me, dressed in a jumpsuit of her own. We were all getting a non-sensor version to take home, like a wrap-party t-shirt. “Don’t go killing yourself the day </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> the testing, it’ll make me look bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks so much for the concern, Misty. I’ll wait until we’re back home before doing anything too crazy. Wouldn’t want you to only get four stars on your performance review.” I rolled my eyes, though for all I knew she really was getting rated on this. I was pretty sure that her appearance at Winslow had been against the rules, and was why she was here ‘guarding’ us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She just wandered off to the omelette bar, striking up a conversation with a costumed kid who had a hunched back. They looked to be around the same age, and I wondered if he was a member of one of the Wards teams. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know about you, but after yesterday I feel like I could eat a horse.” Gareth strolled up behind me, joining Trevor and I at the entrance. Amy was nowhere to be seen, and I was happy to see he’d bounced back after a good rest. “Anyway, want to grab that table over there? I had a snack on the walk over, so I can hold it for us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Minutes later, I was digging through a plate filled with waffles, chicken, and eggs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, where are you guys going from here?” Trevor asked, just as my mouth was full. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m actually flipping the coin on that one. My dad’s in Boston and my mom just got a job in New York. They told me I have a month to decide, and then I guess I’ll join that Wards team.” Gareth announced, looking a little worried. I followed his gaze, and saw him getting a nod from Weld. “I’ve met Wards from both teams, and they seem excellent. It’s a tough call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you can keep from tearing them down, I’m sure both groups would be proud to have you.” Misty cut in, pointing at him with a waffle-stabbed fork. She started chewing on it, then added, “I mean, we’re already chock full of assholes in Brockton Bay, so you can’t go there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m sure as long as they have you, they’ll never run out.” Gareth’s smile seemed more genuine today, but Misty scoffed nonetheless. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Regardless, I appreciate your words. Good luck with the nazis, junkies, and criminals.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, speaking of junkies and stuff, that’s why I’m goin’ to Boston.” Trevor tried to change the subject, grabbing everyone’s attention with his odd segue. “My aunt’s having drug problems, so Mom’s moving to Boston to take care of her. Since dad’s been gone forever, I guess y’all are looking at the Boston Wards’ newest Tinker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s certainly something.” Gareth deadpanned at Trevor, frowning as the excited boy posed heroically. “I suppose that’s a reason </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to go to Boston. Thanks Trevor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, you know you love me, dude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be going back to Brockton Bay.” I flushed as the three of them turned their eyes to me, and looked down at my dwindling supply of food. “I’m still kind of scared of...a lot of things, honestly. But being helped by everyone yesterday made me realize how great teams are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, Amy and Victoria joined us, and I made sure to point out the best parts of the buffet to them. They seemed really happy to hang out with us, and time just flew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People started to vanish within an hour of breakfast, and I mean that in the most literal sense. A good night’s sleep must have restored Strider, because at a certain point various groups started going into a side room and not coming back out. The muffled thunder helped that deduction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it was, we all traded phone numbers and email addresses with a whole bunch of people. They all gave us advice, suggested books and resources, and wished us luck. I even ran into Mouse Protector again, thanking her for her help. She just hugged me and thanked </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> for helping her ‘new family’ out. Whatever the heck that meant...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several handshakes, hugs, and back-slaps later, and it was our turn. Our group trooped into the back room and stood near Strider. At the last minute Mouse Protector ran in and joined us, saying that she was hitching a ride back home. Before we could argue-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>We were in a hallway, standing out from the suited businesspeople and PRT in our white and black jumpsuits. Mouse Protector ran for the stairs, and I hadn’t even turned around before Amy and Victoria wished me good luck and headed off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I saw them approach a blonde in a suit (Carol Dallon) and have a short conversation with her. To my incredible surprise and confusion, both of them pointed at me, and Carol turned to look at me. I gave a nervous wave, and she sighed before turning to leave with her daughters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dang kid, I hope that’s not gonna be yer costume, it looks like someone ate all your colors.” I spun around to see that Kalpin and Hobson had come up behind me, flanking a woman in a familiar costume. “Because I could probably throw a bucket of paint at ya and it’d be better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smiled at Kalpin’s words, but all my attention was on the hero between them, given that I’d had a poster of her on my wall for at least half of my life...Miss Militia. Her face was unreadable, and she was focused entirely on Misty. The girl was standing almost at attention, her hair having returned to blonde (probably Amy), and she appeared worried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whether it was owing Misty for her kindness or lingering regret over Sophia, I approached. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, Miss Militia, ma’am? I’m sorry to interrupt. Really. I...uh…” I trailed off, her inscrutable gaze turned to me, and cleared my throat as I saw Misty put her face in her palm. Steeling myself, I focused on her eyes, and started again. “I just wanted to thank you for sending Misty along with us. I had some real test anxiety and fears, and she helped me feel like less of a...dope, for asking for help. Her being there helped me feel safe, and...um...thanks, I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem...Steve?” I gulped and nodded, her voice sounding so much more real in person than over a computer’s speakers. I had to struggle not to look at her powers, because I really </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted a copy. I mean, her personality was probably really awesome and stable, so…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No, let’s not get ahead of myself. Besides, once I’m a Ward I can just...crap, she’s still talking!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“-safety of our citizens is important. Depending on how your meeting goes, you may be seeing ‘Misty’ again soon. Still, thank </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> for working with her, I’m sure she appreciates it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, thanks ‘Steve.’ I’m glad I could help.” Misty stared daggers at me, as if daring me to embarrass her more in front of her boss. “Try to stay out of trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just nodded in response, then turned as I felt a hand on my shoulder. Hobson was directing me towards one of the conference rooms. I sent one last smile at the heroes as I followed him, and was glad that Misty smiled back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They gave me a minute to freshen up in a bathroom located off to the side, as well as change into the spare clothes Mom had brought. It felt nice to be out of that jumpsuit and back to just looking like a normal civilian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The others had already taken their seats at the table. Hobson, Kalpin, and the lawyer who had introduced himself as Douglas were on one side. Mom was on the other side, where I joined her. At the head of the table was Deputy Director Renick. Finally...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, is our connection solid? Are we muted? Frank, push the button again, I think we’re muted.” Doctor Forrester and Frank were on the big TV at the other end of the table, so close to the camera that we could practically count their pores. “Nope, they’re reacting to the sound of my perfect voice, so we’re probably fine. Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agreed, I’ve locked down the room, and anti-eavesdropping measures have already been taken. Anything said or shown in this room is protected.” Renick smiled at everyone in the room. “Let’s start out with a quick intro, and then we can get started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We went around the table introducing ourselves, and I was happy that my voice didn’t crack once. At the same time, I was a little disappointed that Kalpin and Hobson introduced themselves as...Kalpin and Hobson. I still wasn’t sure if those were their first or last names.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The meeting started out by reviewing what had brought us up to this point. I was glad I’d already been punished, lectured, and signed a pile of NDAs over most of it, and this was just a brief overview anyway. Then we got to the main event...my test results!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-which ended with no injuries, despite the potential for deadly...er...nevermind.” Frank paused as Forrester ran a finger across his throat, then coughed and continued. “Based on all that, we have found that Greg is a Trump/Changer, with a minor Thinker power.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um…” I raised my hand, then flinched as everyone chuckled at me. Forrester sighed, motioning for me to put my hand down, and I asked, “What about my numbers? Like, I saw online that Purity was a Blaster 8, Mover 4...aren’t I supposed to have numbers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, why did we let those numbers get out?” Renick put his hand to his temple, then shook his head and looked at me. “Greg, do you know the reason we have them?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To record how powerful someone is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not quite. You see, those numbers are actually Threat Ratings. They allow the PRT to know how dangerous a parahuman is, and color both our expectations and preparations when it comes to dealing with them. The bigger the number, the more heroes, soldiers, and weapons we bring to bear...as well as the larger an area we clear out to safely handle them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That...makes a lot of sense. There’s probably a cumulative thing too, like 50+ = Drop a bomb.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That said, are you planning to act in a way that forces the PRT to see you as a threat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, sir!” I saw he was smiling, and tried to relax. Mom’s gentle hand on my arm helped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then, I’m sorry to tell you that you don’t get a number.” Renick and the others grinned, and the meeting went on. I felt a bit silly about it, but had to admit that they had a point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, things went pretty smoothly. My preliminary report from Larry looked good, and they recommended that I keep up with the therapy. Douglas had several requirements for me, like never talking about my powers (especially the one that let me see powers) in public. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We set a tentative date (1 month) for me to return and talk about costumes, names, and having a meet-and-greet with the Wards, and then we turned back to Forrester. He had a list of his own recommendations, some of them kind of embarrassing. Not really surprising, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In a word, Greg’s level of fitness is horrible.” Forrester pointed to a chart, showing several scans they had taken of my body. “Underweight for his age, a distinct lack of muscle mass, and terrible endurance. Nutrition could use some work too, judging by what we found in his vomit-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he went on, it was the oddest thing...but I didn’t feel bad. He wasn’t putting me down, he wasn’t making fun of me, he was just trying to help. That made me happy, reminding me of my talk with Theo. I made sure to ask a lot of questions, which they happily answered in detail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A little later, I was leaving the PRT with a long list of recommended exercises, foods and vitamins to mix into my diet. I had books, training materials, and a positive outlook. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had quite a journey ahead of me, and knew the destination was worth it. On top of that…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had school tomorrow!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So in closing, despite the strangely positive opinion that you two generally have about my so-called ‘extravagant social life,’ my weekend was a terrible experience.” Allen plopped his spoon into his lunch, as if he’d lost his appetite. “Perhaps the worst part of the weekend was when I overheard a rich, elderly man using a slur that would get anyone here suspended. When I called him out, he told me he ‘grew up in a different time,’ so it was fine. It was not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Taylor was aghast, jaw dropping as she stared at Allen. Theo had been out so far today, and that meant she’d had the entire side of the table to herself. “What the hell does that even mean? Was he trying to claim he was a time traveler instead of a racist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That makes no sense.” I shook my head, patting Allen’s arm and getting a wan smile from him. “I’m sorry you had to put up with assholes like that. If it makes you feel any better, when we talk about you behind your back, it’s only good things...I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m happy to know you’re talking about both me and my back, Greg.” Allen laughed, Taylor and I joined in, and he went back to his meal. After eating another spoonful, he pointed the utensil at Taylor. “Speaking of backs, I can’t help but notice that yours is rather bowed today. Was your weekend of cleaning worse than you thought it would be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it wasn’t so bad. I mean, it was tough, sure, but I just broke it up into pieces and pretty soon…” Taylor went on to explain her process, and how it only took a day or so to get through her basement. She seemed really happy about it, and mentioned that she was surprised there was so much empty space down there now. Then she sighed, “What’s got me tired is my dad, though. I told him I was thinking of getting a part-time job, and he did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> react well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, given the last year, I can understand him being a little overprotective.” I flinched back as she turned a glare on me, and I just held up both hands in surrender. “Right, Allen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I agree with Greg, Taylor.” He held up his arms in a warding gesture to match mine, and she leaned back. “I don’t understand why you’d begrudge your father for wanting to protect you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, you’re both just like him! It’s not that I don’t want help or protection, but he was all like ‘You should work with me at my job kiddo, so I can hover over your shoulder for a few hours after school each day!’” Her voice actually sounded a lot like Danny’s and we shared a grin before she sighed theatrically. “Maybe I should have found a job first, </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> asked him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I think asking your father first showed responsibility.” Allen finished his meal, putting the plastic box away in his bag and pulling out yet another psychology book. “You are resourceful, driven, and your basement proves you don’t shy away from dirty jobs. He just wants to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, on that note, I think Dad and I came to a compromise.” She smiled, blushing a little after the way she’d teased about her father earlier. “He met someone on Saturday who wanted to hire Dockworkers for a place opening nearby, and got me an interview with them. I’m afraid it’s just going to be an excuse for him to visit all the time, but he went through all the trouble...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you won’t know if you don’t try, right?” I threw out the positive reinforcement, and of course that led to me giving a very vague report on my own weekend. As I told it, I had gotten sick taking care of George and retaken a placement test. I was just telling them about how Theo’s advice had helped me, when Taylor waved at someone behind me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I jumped slightly as Theo dropped his tray beside me, and turned to look at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I’m late, it was a busy weekend.” Theo said, his voice flat as he sat down next to me. None of his normal cheer was present, fake or otherwise, and he began to eat without any fanfare. He didn’t ask how we were, didn’t stutter, and almost seemed...angry?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stared at the lunch in front of me, trying to think of a way to perk him up without overloading him, and finally just blurted. “By the way, Theo, your advice on Saturday really helped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem.” He muttered, and it sounded like his voice caught. “Don’t mention it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I’m sorry to have laid it on so thick, but I really appreciate-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t mention it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Theo picked up his tray and slammed it down, startling me so much that I nearly fell out of my seat. I jumped to my feet, turning to see him glaring at me, the cafeteria going silent around us. His face started to flush as he growled, “Because of...because of your goddamn call, my fucking father is...he thinks...he’s...just leave me alone, Greg! Go away!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was already stumbling away, because standing up had helped me see something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Theo has a haze. He has powers. Oh my god...he triggered. His father! It’s my fault!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I left my lunch behind me, bumped into a half-dozen students with muttered apologies, and ignored the sounds of Taylor and Allen behind me. My face was hot and my eyes were watering. I ran to my locker, slamming into it in my panic and reaching for the lock with shaking hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My combo kept eluding me, and I finally just smacked my hands against it repeatedly. All I could think about was that I’d ruined my friendship with Theo in a single phone call, and that once again a stupid locker was standing between me and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, please calm down.” I didn’t even hear Allen approach, but felt it as his hands grabbed me, spun me around, and...hugged me? I struggled for a moment, then saw a winded Taylor approaching just over his shoulder. “I know you’re scared, but we’re here for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whew! Thanks, Allen.” She waved, taking a breath, and Allen released me as she blocked me in from the other side. “Damn, I really need to start running or something. That was pathetic.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was trapped, and sagged against the lockers as I prepared for them to tell me off for being such a horrible friend. I’d known this day was coming for a while, but that didn’t make it easier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talk to us, Greg.” Her voice was quieter than I’d expected, and her hand on my shoulder wasn’t nearly the angry claw I’d expected. Figuring that she just wanted me to confess my sins against her friend, I shook my head. “C’mon, we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” She stared, and a glance to the side showed me Allen didn’t believe me either. “We’re not going to let you, the kid whose entire brand is overthinking and overdoing it, run off after one of his friends exploded at him. Theo’s hiding in the bathroom, so I’m asking you. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess this way, I can get it over with. Let them hear my side before...okay. I’ll be vague.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“-then his dad hung up, and I just know that he did something to Theo. W-we already know he hates his dad, and I went and just rambled on like an idiot.” I finished my story, Taylor and Allen silently listening, and I was sure they were getting ready to leave any moment. “I was trying to help, but all I did was make things worse. No wonder he hates me now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you’re putting too much blame on yourself, Greg.” Allen put a hand on my shoulder and I shrugged it off. “He is a complex person, and this was almost two days ago. For all you know-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Allen, it’s not rocket science. You heard him in there just now! He said that my call made his dad say or do something...horrible. Didn’t you see the way he was acting…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Angry. Like it was the worst day of his life. Like he triggered because of what I said...what I did...he’s...</span>
  </em>
  <span> “Different. I caused this. I don’t deserve to have friends. Just...stay away from me. I don’t want to ruin-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the hell up!” Taylor grabbed my shirt and shoved me into the lockers, her face twisted in something that almost looked like anger. I’d seen what she did to Emma, and the sound of my back hitting the lockers made me flinch. Maybe it affected her as well, because she let go and took a breath, “Sorry. Just...you’re wrong. So damn wrong. Let me tell you about my friend.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taylor…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quiet. It’s my turn.” She moved her hand from my shirt to my shoulder, leaning in and speaking in a low voice. “I’ve got a friend who gave me a gift because he was sorry, even though he thought I hated him. He tried to help me, even though it put him in the hospital. He fought my bullies for me, and nearly died in my arms. Even after all the pain my problems caused him, he still offered to start fresh and be my friend. He may make mistakes, but he’s trying to be better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shook my head, trying to make her stop saying those things. To stop trying to...I wasn’t...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you say stuff like that, it pisses me off. So here’s the deal.” She held up a fist, waving it at me. “If I ever hear you talking shit about my friend Greg again, I’m going to beat the hell out of you. Got it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh or cry, and instead just stared. She was smiling, but her voice had been shaking near the end. Beside us, Allen looked sad, and had placed a hand on both our shoulders during her tirade. It dawned on me that they were right. I’d been...an idiot. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I was so worried about Theo, I never thought about my friends worrying about me. I messed up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it.” I whispered, hanging my head. “Thanks, guys. I just...don’t know how to fix this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They glanced at each other, and as the bell rang overhead I saw Taylor grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go to class, Greg.” She grabbed Allen. “We’ve got your back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite her promise, I still went through the rest of the day with a strong sense of anxiety running through me. Allen kept trying to distract me in the classes I shared with him, but then I came to my last class of the day and sat down next to Theo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at me. I looked at him. He got up to go to the bathroom. He didn’t come back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After school, I saw him again on the bus, but he was sitting with Taylor up front and not looking at me. I took the hint and walked on, sitting with Allen further in. He suggested we stop off at Fugly Bob’s on the way home, and I nodded. I’d skipped lunch, after all...so if nothing else I could eat my cares away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it was suspicious as heck that he’d chosen Fugly Bob’s of all places. Allen was big on health food, so this was like a pacifist offering to take me to a pit fight. I still followed him off the bus at a different stop than usual, and we took a shortcut through a small park nearby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A small park where Taylor and Theo were just sitting down on a bench. I approached slowly, afraid I was going to scare him off, but Taylor just whispered something to him and he flushed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I could say a word, Theo beat me to it, saying, “My weekend was h-horrible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started to open my mouth to apologize, but saw Taylor behind him with a finger over her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My dad humiliated me, turned my step-mom against me, and he...he just...I hate him. I can’t even explain it.” His voice caught, and went up a few octaves. “But that’s not your fault. I’m sorry I got mad at you. I’m sorry I yelled. I just...he said some terrible things, and I...he wants me to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was torture, seeing Theo like this. He really was just like me, and maybe that was why we made such good friends. I wanted to scream at his father for doing this to him. I wanted to be there for him, just like he’d supported me this last week. I wanted to help him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>My friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants me to move to Boston at the end of the school year, to live with him.” My jaw clenched as I realized how horrible it would have been if I’d actually walked away a few hours ago...thank god Taylor and Allen stopped me. His eyes darted up, he flinched, and started to shiver. “I-if you want to stop hanging out, I w-wouldn’t blame y-you. I’m sorry. I’m worthless-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though his lips moved, it was Theo’s words from two days ago that ran through my head...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-knowing others have fears, anxiety, and worries as well, it makes me feel...less alone. It makes me stronger, knowing that other people feel like I do. Like I’m on a team, instead of standing by myself.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck that.” I cut him off, holding out my hand. He began to twitch, a dozen emotions dancing across his face. Theo stared at my hand. “I told you, you’re my friend. I’m not going to abandon you, no matter what your asshole dad says. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m</span>
  </em>
  <span> the one who’s sorry. Can you forgive me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo’s face shifted. For a moment, he smiled so wide it must have hurt. His eyes were wet and he shook his head, smile fading.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, that’s…” Even as his mask slowly slipped back into place, I refused to give up. He grabbed my hand at last, like a lifeline. I saw Taylor pump her fist behind him. “Yeah. T-thanks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, we all walked to Fugly Bob’s. Taylor and I tried to convince Allen to try the Double Cheese Heart Attack Fries, Theo made interesting condiment combos, and we just had fun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The future was ever-changing, but right now I was happy to have friends by my side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Max Anders tried to take Theo, he’d have to go through me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d have to go through all of us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: What the heck happened to Theo over the weekend, both before and after Greg’s call? Also, what’s this about Taylor maybe getting a job? Time for an Interlude!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0043"><h2>43. Interlude 10: Reaching Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Theo]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Most children grew up with a well-rounded understanding of a variety of emotions and concepts. Theo Anders was not most children, thanks primarily to his father. Impossible standards, humiliating tests, and several flavors of abuse had taught him three powerful lessons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>First, he found that nothing he did or said brought him the slightest bit of success in his father’s eyes. Even when he thought he had won, Max found faults. At a certain point, Theo simply stopped trying, barely giving a token effort. Why try to succeed if every attempt ended in failure?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Second, Theo saw that Max was a bully at heart, and so the best way to combat humiliation was with subservience and calm. Indeed, as Theo stopped reacting to Max’s words and actions, the man’s attempts to hurt him began to decrease. By holding his fears and emotions inside, becoming more like a doll than a person, Theo became the sort of target any bully would ignore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he learned that despite his father being an asshole, a nazi, and a criminal...nobody was ever going to stop him. Max had money, influence, parahuman powers, and a gang made up of hundreds, along with a plan for every eventuality. He had connections in law enforcement and news, a limitless supply of lawyers, and more business associates than most people had socks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As disgusted as he was by Max’s hatred and crime, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that he was powerless to stop it. Theo was trapped in a cycle of fear, failure, and powerlessness, Max controlling his very future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d given up on escaping his father, but then the man got a phone call back in September. A voice claiming to be the villain ‘Coil’ made Kaiser a one-time offer. He said there were spies within Kaiser’s ranks, and for an exorbitant price he’d gladly share their names.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally Kaiser laughed it off, hanging up without a word.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He then flew into what anyone else would call a panic, summoning his most trusted Lieutenants and lawyers. He sent them out on a hunt for traitors, with Cricket going along to see through any lies. Days went by as Theo overheard his father get more and more paranoid, going down one rabbit hole after another...coming up empty on people but finding signs of sabotage everywhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only Max’s investments in Boston were clean, so the man decided to take drastic action. Never one to wallow in fear, he had a building he owned in Boston cleaned out, telling his investors that he was building a new branch for Medhall. Max began to move people and resources there, as well as a few of his capes, and assured his allies that he was merely branching out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo was dumped at Kayden’s, the man’s ex-wife promising to “keep an eye on him.” Kaiser’s Lieutenants handled the E88 in Brockton Bay, even as the man raised a new army in Boston.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Months passed, and Theo started to come out of his shell...even making friends. He found genuine emotions coming to him more and more, and wondered if this was what it meant to be human. Greg’s funny antics, Taylor’s clever hypotheticals and book references, and Allen’s thoughtful support...it was a dream come true. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But even the best dreams have to end eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A week ago, Kayden said that Max had summoned him. There had been no word from the man for months, and now he suddenly wanted his son by his side? Something was up, but Theo knew better than to fight against Max. Kayden assured him the whole drive there that it wasn’t going to be as bad as he thought, and she was right...it was worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It started Friday night, when she dropped him off at Max’s penthouse. He expected the two of them to snipe at each other, but instead she hugged the man and engaged in smalltalk with him. As they acted more like old friends than bitter exes, Theo felt the world grind to a halt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had tried to think well of Kayden, to believe that she wanted to be better. But...she attacked minorities with bone-crushing force, destroyed their homes, and never stood up to the E88 when they committed crimes right in front of her. Heck, she kept the name ‘Purity,’ despite claiming she had left that life behind. He thought she was trying to change, but...what if she wasn’t?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nearly a year ago, the mere mention of Max’s name would have soured her mood. But the past few months, ever since Max had dumped him on her doorstep, she’d been acting strangely. He overheard her talking to him on the phone, even laughing sometimes, and seeing it now...scared him. Even the appearance of Max’s ‘bodyguards’ Jessica and Nessa, twin replacements for Kayden in the man’s life (and bed, according to Stormtiger) barely made her twitch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Kayden was gone and Max was directing him to the couch. Despite having a guest bed, he gave his son a blanket and walked away slowly. Theo knew this was a test, that Max was daring his son to call out to him. To demand a greeting, food, a real bed, or even an answer as to why he’d been summoned after months of silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max’s door closed, and the boy tried to sleep as his self-doubt and fears menaced him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Saturday was even worse, as Max dragged his son from one meeting to the next, barely saying a word to him. The Board of Directors, shipping, janitorial staff, and so on. Each looked at Theo with disinterest, until Max mentioned who he was, and then all fell over themselves to be kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was Max’s way of reminding him that without the name Anders, he was worthless. He might have broken eventually...if it hadn’t been for a well-timed call from Greg. In moments he had fled the meeting room and hidden in Max’s office, pacing as he tried to focus on his friend instead of his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Greg was worried about fear and failure, two concepts Theo understood all too well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Lisa]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t often that Lisa saw fear on Rachel’s face, but this time she hadn’t even needed her power for it. What was most concerning was that the dog-focused girl should have been incredibly happy, especially after the week they’d spent rescuing dogs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally Rachel would spend the day following such an evening activity training said dogs, healing them with her power, or traveling around to various trusted shelters to drop them off. The girl delighted in freeing animals from their brutal captors and adding them to her pack.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, Lisa actually felt rather miffed, since it had been thanks to her efforts that they’d even pulled off most of these jobs. She had gotten information from a source of hers that had an inside track on Hookwolf and his dog fighting rings. Someone inside the E88, who hated them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whoever this person was, their info had checked out, and Lisa was soon showing off a map and a calendar to the other Undersiders. The map had all the dog fighting rings, supply warehouses, and dog storage spots highlighted in various colors. But the calendar was the real treasure...as it had a schedule of the dates and times that Hookwolf visited his favorite pit fights and brothel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With these, the Undersiders had been able to free dozens of dogs every night, as well as steal more money than most of them had ever seen. They were literally rolling in cash!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, despite that, Rachel was afraid of something, or perhaps ashamed? That was why the two of them were now sitting in a cafe’s private room, Brutus dutifully guarding them as they ate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa saw Rachel staring at her warily, shifted nervously in her chair, and then smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Theo]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>As Greg’s kindness overwhelmed him, Theo sat in Max’s chair, and time seemed to fly...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enjoying yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo froze at the voice. He looked up, being certain to move slowly, and saw that Max was standing on the other side of the desk. The man’s hands were folded, and he had a measuring look on his face. Not wanting to give the man more reasons to punish him, Theo stayed quiet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theo?” Greg’s voice, loud enough to startle him a little, made him jump. “Are you still there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could hang up, Max had moved even closer, leaning across the desk and holding out a hand. Cringing, Theo passed the phone to Max, hoping he’d just hang up or smash it...but what he did was far worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He put it on speaker, and then started talking to Greg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, it wasn’t so bad, and Theo thought that he might escape this exchange unscathed. But then, somehow, Max found a way to turn the conversation towards the E88. Leading to...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well, we had a lot of ABB kids at Winslow, and a few E88, but usually they kept each other occupied. But at Arcadia, E88 kids are a lot better hidden.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Greg paused, and Theo prayed that was the end of it. It wasn’t. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>But Theo told us how they used to mess with him, how much he hated them, and helped us avoid those nazi scumbags. We’re lucky to have him as a friend.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Max’s voice was warm, even if his face was blank. “Well, thank you for being such good friends with my son. I must go now, my business needs me. Good day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo didn’t hear Greg’s reply, because Max hung up and placed the phone on his desk.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, sir.” The boy had lowered his eyes to the floor, and started stammering, “P-please…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve certainly made an odd...friend.” Max chuckled, pacing away as his son slipped his phone back into his pocket. “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I summoned you here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Lisa]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are we here?” Rachel asked, chewing noisily on the sandwich she’d ordered. Nearby, Brutus slurped at a bowl of water. “What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like I should be asking you that.” Lisa had long since learned that it annoyed people when she used her powers to tell them what they wanted. It was even worse when it was something they didn’t know, and she was trying to be better about that. “We’ve got dogs and money for days, more than I’ve ever seen, and yet you seem so...down. Can I help? What can I do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What can you do?” Rachel looked confused, then annoyed, then sad. “I can’t explain it. Don’t have the words. But you’re the mind-reader. Tell me what’s wrong. Help me...fix it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shrugging, Lisa let her power flow and read Rachel. What she got was...strange.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Happy she helped so many dogs, and we’re okay. Worried about us, and...dogs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Something related to dogs worrying her. Dog shelters? Not enough room. Needs more space.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wants to save all the dogs, but some shelters hate her. Because of her past. What she did.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>People hate her because of what she did to people, despite what she does for dogs.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Has money, has dogs, needs help. Too many dogs, too many stupid people. Needs...me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Came out here today because she...trusts me? Trusts my plans. Do I have a plan for her?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa leaned back in her chair and let her power take her towards a solution. Rachel just chewed on her sandwich, petting Brutus and waiting. She stared as the Thinker pulled out her phone and started considering a wild idea. One that required money, speed, and privacy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Lisa smiled, explained her idea, and was glad it made Rachel happy as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel had questions, and together they headed out to find answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Theo]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“As hard it may be to believe, I was once a lot like you.” Max stood, and began to pace the room, stopping to look out the window. “Your grandfather, Richard, was often quite cross with me, and hated that I wanted no part in his...activities. I wanted a career in sports, public speaking, perhaps business...but he had other plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard to imagine Max (tall, handsome, strong, charismatic) being anything like Theo (short, ugly, weak, boring). Obviously this was another test. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Around the time I was your age, my father brought me into his office and offered me a deal. He said that I was free.” Max waved his hand majestically, as if he were a showman on a stage. “He told me to go forth and rut with anyone I dared, befriend jews or colored folk, drink myself into the gutter, or travel the world. He gave me almost a year, and promised not to interfere. At the end of that time, I would return to him and take my rightful place by his side. It worked for me, and made me the man I am today...and appears to be working for you as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“B-but I’m…” Theo trailed off, his eyes darting away from his father’s. This still felt like a trick, and he was reluctant to buy in on what seemed like a release from his father’s machinations. Still, it did sound tempting. “I’m nothing like you, sir. I’m not...strong.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say that, but look at those folders on my desk.” Theo carefully opened the three folders on his father’s desk, and nearly fell out of his chair. There were pictures of him with his new friends, some taken from afar and others from above. “I had all but given up on you, but all it took was some distance. Without my shadow falling over you, you began to build an empire of your own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Max was standing beside him, pulling out a few particular pictures and stabbing a finger down at each as he continued to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taylor Hebert and Gregory Veder were accident-prone losers who made the news. Within a week of getting large sums of money in lawsuits, they were your friends.” Max slid their pictures away, revealing a much more scandalous one. A younger Allen in Winslow football gear, kissing a boy behind the bleachers. “Meanwhile, by befriending Allen Galveston this early you can count a queer colored boy among your retinue. Quite clever, as far as demographics go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo wanted to tell Max that he was completely off-base. That he liked Greg. Taylor, and Allen for entirely different reasons. That they weren’t just...checking boxes to him, or setting up some kind of empire. But the look on Max’s face was one he’d never seen before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max Anders, Kaiser...was proud of him. It both sickened and amazed Theo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thus, I have brought you here to give you a message, much like my father did for me. I am setting you free, Theo.” Max waved a hand, as if casting a spell upon his son. When Theo didn’t move, didn’t even respond, Max sighed. “You turn sixteen in six months, I believe? By that time I should have completed the construction of Medhall’s newest location. My army will be ready, and we will begin our takeover of Boston by destroying the last of the Teeth. You will be by my side, as we finally take vengeance for your mother...my wife. Until then, do as you will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” This had to be a trap. There was no way that Max would simply tell Theo his plans, reveal all of this, and then let him go. Worse, the thought that he had been watching Theo all along, taking pictures of his activities and delving into his friends...it was sickening. Despite his hatred of the Teeth, he focused on the ‘free’ part. “You’re just letting me go, sir? For real?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes, leave. Play with your little friends, sleep with them, pretend to be normal, whatever you wish. I know that when your birthday comes, you will be right here, in my office, ready to go.” Max smiled, and this time it was his evil smile. His ‘I already won’ smile. “I know what you’re thinking, boy. You’re wondering why I’m just letting you go. Do you know why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo began backing up as the man approached him, eventually bumping into a wall. He wanted to run, but was afraid to take his eyes off his father.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you have nowhere else to go. If you go to the PRT, they will grill you for information and treat you like a monster, so you will avoid them. If you try to run, you know what will happen to your friends, so you will return. If you try to convince Kayden to turn against me...ha, you would sooner convince Lung to join the PRT! She is mine, whether for war or for...other tasks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo had been planning to run back to Kayden’s hotel, but Max’s expression, his words...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lightning fast, the last few months ran through his head, and he felt his heart turn to ice. The way he’d hear her talking to someone on the phone, but go silent when he entered the room. The times that Geoff and Dorothy asked him about his friends, as if they actually cared. Seeing Kayden buy a new camera, one with a telephoto lens, but never actually seeing her use it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His face fell as he looked at the pictures on Max’s desk. Some had looked overexposed...or was that white light creeping in at their edges? Many were taken from a high angle, as if the person taking them could access rooftops with ease. Had Kayden been...spying on him? All this time? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this a surprise to you, boy?” Max laughed at his expression, picking up a sheaf of photos and waving them. “Did you think I would leave you with Kayden if I didn’t know her heart and mind? For all her destructive power she is just like you...a pawn, powerless to control her life. Learn from her, accept the inevit-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo always dreamed...hoped...that Kayden saw him as more than just a tool. That she cared enough about him to protect him from Max. That when she promised to protect him, she meant it. Instead, his hopes and her false promises were shattering around him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max continued his rambling speech about blood, destiny, and power...and for once Theo had a response. Not in the form of words or violence, but in the only action that was left to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo ran away, and Max didn’t stop him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had a deal, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Lisa]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“You drive a hard bargain, but I think we have a deal.” One of the men leaned forward and handed Lisa her copy of the contract. His smile grew as Rachel unzipped her duffel bag and began to pull out stacks of bills, and within minutes they were counted, sorted, and stashed in a safe. “Most people prefer checks, but you said you’d been fundraising for this for a while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, we just want to help dogs, but right now it’s just the two of us.” Lisa laughed, then took her copy of the contract. “Our problem was always space, and the next step up from a crappy little shelter is a big warehouse-sized one. Our lawyer is young, but he gave the green light and got the permits taken care of an hour ago. Having your people doing the heavy lifting and cleaning up will mean we can get our dogs to forever homes that much faster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two of the men left the room, hands full of signed papers, but the nicer one offered to take them back to the entrance. Walking alongside Lisa and Rachel, he struck up a conversation with them about the other supplies they still needed. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about the area, and suggested a few vendors he’d known for years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A trickle of her power told Lisa a lot about the man, and she felt a certain warmth towards him for the positive changes in his life. At the same time, she also saw an opportunity, and slowed herself down so he could ask the question on the tip of his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you said it was just the two of you...” The man stopped them at the door, looking around and lowering his voice a little. “My daughter is actually looking for an after-school job. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could give her a chance? You’re around her age, and I think she could learn a lot from you two. She loves dogs, and knowing my guys will be nearby and you’ll be-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you had me at ‘teenage girl wants to help dogs for minimum wage.’ I’m in.” Lisa laughed as the older man scratched contact info on a piece of paper and handed it to her. “I guess we can give...Taylor a shot. Thanks again, Mister Hebert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, call me Danny.” Danny shook her hand, and she gave him a genuine smile as Rachel reclaimed Brutus from the front door. “Taylor’s driven and dedicated, she won’t let you down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, the two headed to their new shelter, meeting Brian there and getting to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with her precautions, Coil would find out soon...they had to work fast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Theo]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Night fell, but Theo kept moving, his mind whirling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t go back to Kayden, couldn’t call anyone, and couldn’t stop because...was someone following him? That man kept looking at him and was on a phone. Theo took off running, exhausted as he was, and headed for the bus station.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dashed inside, locking himself in the bathroom and listening to...silence. Only then did he collapse to the ground, curling up into a ball as big salty tears spilled down his cheeks. He put his hands over his face and tried to muffle himself, hoping nobody heard him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been taught by Max and the E88 that men didn’t cry, and the thought that he’d internalized such lessons made him cry even harder. The very people who had ruined his childhood were in his head, making him a worse person. He still had to remind himself what words not to say, what jokes not to laugh at, what people not to hate, and it was about to get so much worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had months, not even a year, and then Max was going to take everything away. All the happiness in his life would be gone, his friends torn away, and the only way out was…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo reached into pocket, taking out what little money he had, and realizing that it wasn’t enough to even get out of the state, much less the country. Max had promised to leave him be, but the man always got what he wanted. The PRT would jail him, running would get his friends killed, nobody would support him, and hiding was pointless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo was trapped by his destiny. Locked into a nightmare. Alone...afraid...crushed...scared...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The motion lights turned off, adding to his distress, and he let out another sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Panic overwhelmed Theo, and exhaustion finally took him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo woke slowly from a dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he had been very young, and his mother was still alive, she used to run her hands through his hair as he slept. Her touch was calming, her hands cool, and he missed her so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, as his shoulders ached from sleeping on a tile floor and his nose told him the toilet hadn’t been cleaned in some time, he felt fingers in his hair...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached up to touch them, slowly blinking, and then yelped as a finger broke off in his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo scrambled away, finger still in his hand, nearly falling as the motion lights flickered on. Looking at where he’d been, he could see...a hand. Sticking out of the wall. Made from the same porcelain tile as the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of its fingers was missing, now in Theo’s hand, and aside from looking creepy it was otherwise just kind of...sitting there. He approached, gingerly, and grabbed the hand at its wrist, then snapped it off. It was brittle, smooth to the touch, and familiar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dimly remembered something from last night, just before he’d passed out, feeling like he’d stuck his hand into the ground. An understanding flooded through Theo, and he carefully knelt...then jammed his hand </span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the room, a hand emerged from the wall, waved around as if it was his own, then froze as he pulled his real hand back out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was this good, or was it another headache?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Lisa]</b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, it was only a matter of time before he found out. How does he always know...OW! </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa winced as her powers forced a spike of pain into her skull, the usual reaction she got when she tried to use them on her boss’ powers. Her lights were off, headache pills were doing nothing, and she was exhausted. But she also felt victorious, after all her work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By using a lawyer fresh out of law school and dockworkers instead of a temp agency, she’d avoided Coil finding out for nearly a day. Even if he wanted her to scuttle the whole thing, it would be more suspicious now than if he’d been able to stop it halfway. Despite the dread in her gut and pain in her head, it was a mission accomplished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa was now the proud owner of a large-scale dog shelter within a mile of their hideout. They had dockworkers on cleanup, employees coming in to be interviewed, and suppliers shipping food, cages, bedding, and other goods within a few days. Rachel could work in the back, as her silent partner, helping the dogs they freed without anyone being the wiser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, mere moments after the last detail was in place, she’d gotten a call. Lisa had smiled and excused herself from their impromptu party, ignoring how Rachel’s eyes followed her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa had hidden in her room, put the phone to her ear, and started doing her best to reassure Coil that she wasn’t being sneaky and underhanded at all (she was).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She claimed this wasn’t some sort of plan to get Rachel on the path towards being able to pass as a legitimate member of the community, to help with her legal issues (it was).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her story was that this was just a case of them having a lot of money (true), too many dogs (also true), and Rachel demanding that Lisa help or else she’d walk (not even slightly true).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken a while, but Coil had left her after several threats and requirements. Among them was an order to grab a new recruit one of his men was currently following, a new Undersider.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To make matters worse, he’d gone on a tirade about all the terrible things that would happen to the current Undersiders if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> betray him. How he could destroy them all with but a word...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, you okay? You look bad.” Rachel’s voice startled Lisa out of her morbid thoughts, and she realized she wasn’t alone. Rachel gently put a hand on Lisa’s arm, pulling the other girl to her feet and practically carrying her. “Come on. Dog time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really not feeling that well, Rachel. My head is killing me, and I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s why you’re coming with me.” They went down the steps to the basement, Rachel muttering, “You’re hurting. From helping me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa found herself on the ground, and squinted at the small fuzzy objects all around her. One of them moved closer...and started licking her hand. A dozen others joined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need dogs.” Rachel said, sitting nearby. “Dogs make everything better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time passed as she played with the puppies, and fell asleep with them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tomorrow she had to fetch a scared child, make him a criminal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But tonight she was safe, warm, and among friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Theo]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Sunday morning found Theo back in Brockton Bay, and he just started walking aimlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he needed now was a place to live that wasn’t under the E88’s eye, and he had almost no money. He had no skills that would let him get a job, and if he stopped going to school he’d be dumped in Juvie or the Wards so fast it would make his head spin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worse, the moment the E88 found out about his power, Max would find out as well, and then his half-year of freedom would end instantly. He needed to be able to fight back, to escape, to plan! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But before he made any plans, he had to do something about the blonde girl who had been following him since the bus station. He had made several random turns, paused at intersections, and pretended to read newspapers at newsstands. Somehow, she stuck to him like glue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Worried she was following him for Max, despite the man’s promise, Theo decided it was time for him to stand up for himself. He smoothly walked down an alley, rounded a corner, and...waited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had no idea what he was going to do, and as the seconds ticked by his courage faded. He-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of a boot on the ground was all the warning he got, and then a pair of arms grabbed him from behind. They were stronger than Theo, and before he could yell black smoke exploded around them. He began to panic as he was dragged backwards, worried that Kayden had sent Night and Fog to capture him. Theo’s voice echoed around him in the smoke...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it vanished, and Theo stumbled away before falling over. He was in a warehouse?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Behind him was an imposing man in black leather with a motorcycle helmet, a skull painted on it, and Theo jammed his hand into the ground. A cement hand surged out of the floor, almost as big as the newcomer, but so slow that he easily dodged it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! Timeout! Pause the fight!” Now wearing a domino mask, the blonde waved her hands at Theo and he...stopped. He clenched the stone fist, but didn’t pull his hand out as he glared at her. “Guess that’s as good as we’re going to get. Sorry, but can we talk first? Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-so you just followed me around for an hour, because you wanted to talk?” Theo spat out the words, trying to project courage and coming up short. “W-what do you...who do you work f-for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody you know, don’t worry about that. Definitely not...oh wow, you are...damn, sorry kid.” The blonde cringed at something, then shook her head and sighed, “We want to offer you a job. You have unique skills and need a place to hide, we’ve got great plans and can give you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can I possibly trust you? You just kidnapped me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fair point. Hey Grue, roll up your sleeve.” The man in the helmet turned and stared at her, then let out an echoing grumble and acquiesced. “See? He’s a black guy. We’re not Empire 88, we’re not ABB, and as you can see from the lack of track marks...not junkies. We don’t kill, we’ve never been caught, and we want to offer you a chance. We can help each other. You in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo slowly pulled his arm out, rising as he weighed his options. He wanted to run away...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I don’t know you, but I do know that you stopped fighting when she asked.” Grue’s voice echoed at them, ominously. “She says that you’re in a rough spot, and that we’re your best bet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can set you up in a hiding place they’ll never find, with food and income they won’t know about.” She didn’t say who ‘they’ were, but the look on her face was serious, and he wondered if it was some aspect of her power. But if she knew, why trust him? “We’re all kind of outcasts, pal. Grue can train you, I can help with money, and so on...but you have to work with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. It’s a two-way street.” Grue crossed his arms. “So, convince me. Why should I let you join us, considering you’re getting a lot more out of this than we are?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I…” Theo trailed off, looking around, and saw that the door was right there. They weren’t stopping him from leaving. But did he really want to? Could they help him? “I have to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo took a deep breath, then tried to act like the person he </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to fight an impossible fight.” Theo started, looking down at his feet. “Against a madman.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Max’s words echoed in his mind, the look on the man’s face as he told Theo the future and just laughed as if it would come to pass no matter what. The soldiers he raised, the hate he spread, and the murders committed at his request. Max...Kaiser was a monster.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Empire 88 has given me a deadline. In six months, they’re going to...take me. Hurt me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He remembered Kayden’s false promises, making him trust her just so she could use him. Despite knowing that her daughter would grow up a nazi, she stood by Max’s side. Even if she claimed to be different, she was just like the rest of the E88. They were all monsters. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“They want me to fight for them, and will kill my friends to make it happen. They say I’m weak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He thought of the PRT, who would hate and judge him for his father’s blood. It didn’t matter how hard he fought, he could never truly redeem himself. So much pain and death could have been stopped, but he’d been too much of a coward to even try. He was as bad as they were...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re right. I’m weak. I’m a coward. But more than that...I’m alone. I have nobody I can trust.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He wanted to curl up and hide. He wanted to run for the hills. He wanted to let someone else handle this. He wanted to give up, and just accept the inevitable. He wanted to tell his friends that he couldn’t see them anymore, to run and get far away from him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’ll trust me, hide me, and help me...” Theo saw Grue holding out a hand to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>More than that, Theo wanted to take Grue’s hand. To fight Max. To beat him. To stop the E88.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Theo wanted to win.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“...then I’ll have your back. No matter what happens.” Theo reached out, and took Grue’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That afternoon, Theo met his teammates, and learned that they really </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>like him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That evening, Theo slept fitfully in a new bed, a fresh start ahead of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Theo yelled at his friends, trying to drive them all away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few hours later, he apologized and told them the truth...mostly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo had been afraid he was too weak to save them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he was done letting fear rule his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>******************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Greg faces his greatest threat so far...school cafeteria food! Don’t worry, it’s actually a lot more interesting than I’m making it sound. Well, probably.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0044"><h2>44. 3.4: Learning from the Best</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Dr. Vasquez Email Question:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> You told me during our last session that you look up to your parents, and that their skills and passions motivated you. When did that start? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Greg:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> When I was about five years old, I got into a fight with another kid at the playground. I had a toy I’d brought from home, and he wanted it. He was bigger than me, so he knocked me down and took it. I reacted like any smaller kid would, and cried to my Dad. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rather than beating up the other kid’s dad, as I had hoped, he started talking to the guy. Told some jokes, chatted about a local football team, and then next thing I knew I was walking away with my toy in my hands. It made no sense to me, because Dad was huge compared to the other kid’s dad, and yet...he hadn’t even made a fist. He had solved problems with words.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That was when I started copying my dad. Learning to tell jokes, to talk out my problems, and to avoid fights. Sure, it led to me being submissive and easily bullied for a while, but I think choosing violence would have made things far worse. I wanted to be like my cool dad, who could have broken skulls and knocked out teeth...but chose not to. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As for my mother...I kind of regret that I only ever learned books from her. She has so much more to teach me, I’m coming to realize...I just need to ask.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I need to learn it’s okay to ask for help.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, January 21, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope that I’m not offending you three by asking,” Allen started, looking up from his meal to address each of us. “But I have to wonder if you’re all okay? This entire week, you’ve been listless, low-energy, and distracted. Taylor and Theo are sleeping on the table, and Greg has been glaring at his food.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cafeteria was louder than usual, and what had become our normal table was actually seating a few other kids for once. The four of us were scootched down at one end, mostly being ignored. Still, I couldn’t help but notice a few eyes glancing our way as Taylor, Theo, and I groaned in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, sorry Allen, it’s just this new job. I’m still getting used to things, and my boss has no concept of ‘easing into things’ that I’ve noticed.” Taylor stretched her arms, eliciting popping noises from her joints. She had told us about her job at the dog shelter (what kind of name was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Help Hounds</span>
  </em>
  <span>, anyway?), and within a day had gone from wide-eyed joy to grousing and wincing. “She’s a real hardass, and is working me to the bone. I feel half-dead after a week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you just quit? Or maybe ask for time off?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Why the hell would I do that?” Taylor recoiled from my suggestion, scoffing. “I get to work with dogs, and help animals that were abused! The pay is good, and it’s getting me in decent shape. I mean, yeah I feel tired and sore, but these animals need all the help they can get and...crap, I just argued myself out of asking for time off, didn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We all laughed, and turned to Theo next. It had become a given in our group that I usually went last when it came to talking about plans or activities. Sometimes it took me a few minutes to pare down my words into something more concise. I was happy that they’d started doing this without any input from me, like an unwritten rule.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been getting some after-school tutoring, and Taylor’s boss sounds like she’d get along well with my tutor.” Theo smiled, and flexed his hand a little before taking another bite of his loaded salad. We had all noticed that he was eating a lot more, but now it was a mix of both junk and healthy stuff. He grinned, “But I’m learning a lot, even if he does make me do a lot of exercise to ‘keep my focus.’ He’s actually making me join him for runs, and even wants to spar with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, sparring as in fighting?” I saw Theo blush and look down, and tried to use a bit of humor to lighten the mood. “I mean, that’s great! You get to learn some useful skills, self-defense, and work on your grades! Let me know how it goes, man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about you, then?” Theo nodded at me, and I took it as a personal victory. Despite our disagreement earlier, it seemed like we were back to normal. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you glaring at that salad of yours for the last few minutes. I’m afraid to ask what it did to insult you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s insulting me by tasting terrible.” The others laughed, and I just shook my head and took another bite of the bland paper-tasting mess that sat in front of me. “Ugh...so nasty. I have to start eating healthier, and all this cafeteria food does is remind me why I hate eating healthy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A part of the nutritional plan that Forrester had left me was to increase my intake of a whole bunch of vitamins, vegetables, and other healthy crap. I had figured it would be nothing more than just taking the healthy option at Arcadia, and had promised my parents I would do just that. What I hadn’t counted on was that most healthy food was lacking in fats, salt, sugar, and all the other wonderful additives I’d gotten used to for the past decade or so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, faced with nasty green leaves, acidic red bombs, crunchy water, and other terrible mouth enemies, I decided to cheat. One of the kids who shared a lunch period with us just happened to be a certain Ward by the (cape) name of Aegis. Knowing thanks to my power testing that I could repress personalities, I had started using his power to make food not taste terrible.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course, now instead of tasting like acid and bitterness, it just tastes like...nothing. I’m done.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, if you want something that tastes decent and is healthy, you could try going a different route.” As I pushed my salad aside and dropped the power, I turned to see a spoon coming my way. I opened my mouth to say something, but it went in, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh my god that was delicious, moist, and...what spice! What flavor! No, don’t swallow, I don’t want to lose this divine</span>
  </em>
  <span>...oh, it was gone. “Like it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like it? I love it! What the heck was that?” I looked at Allen, and saw an uncharacteristic grin on his face as he packed up the rest of his lunch container. It almost looked like he had saved the last bite of it for me, and I felt honored now that I’d tasted it. “Where did you buy that, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I made it, actually. It’s a turmeric rice salad with chicken.” Allen may not have known it, but I was already carving those words into my mind, planning to look them up online as soon as I got home so I could...wait. Damn it all. “Why the long face? Wait, are you allergic to that? Do I need to call for help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just...I was thinking how cool it would be to make it myself, but I can’t make toast without setting off a fire alarm. So I guess that’s out the window, now.” I sighed, savoring the leftover flavors in my mouth as they cancelled out the nasy salad. A hand on my arm stopped me from getting up though, and I turned to see Allen looking at me intently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you could...I mean, if you want to, you don’t have to...” Allen looked away, then busied himself with packing up his lunch, stealing a glance at me before looking away. “If you wanted to learn how to make it...I mean, to learn to cook-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that’s a great idea, Allen!” Theo interrupted, and I turned to see him waving a hand at me. “Greg, you’re always bragging about what an amazing cook your mother is! You could ask her for some lessons, I’m sure she’d love to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dang, you’re right, Theo. Man, that </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>a really good idea, Allen.” I reached out and slapped Allen on the shoulder, and he blushed at the praise. I tried to catch his eyes, but he started to get up and leave. “I really owe you, man. I’m so glad I have a friend like you on my side.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I turned to thank Theo as well, but saw Taylor whispering something at him as he looked confused. The feeling was mutual, because they both saw me looking, smiled almost in unison, and then got up to leave as the bell rang. I shrugged it off, having a few more classes to get to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But after that, I was going to make the best food anyone had ever tasted. Time for a weekend cooking montage! With my mother at my side, I’d be a master chef in no time!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, I love you dearly, and know that with your powers and passion you are capable of some of the most amazing things this world will likely ever see...” My mother’s voice filled me with incredible pride, considering we’d only been doing cooking lessons for an hour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Mom, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...But this is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever smelled.” She dumped my food into the trash, and I felt like my heart went with it. Still, the fact that we’d disconnected the smoke alarm and had opened all the windows in the house was evidence that it was probably the right choice. “We’re not going to give up. Let’s go back to basics!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So we started over, and the next few hours were full of some cooking trial and error.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Greg, you let all the water boil away again. Next time, try using the egg timer.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s not sugar, it’s salt. If you’re not sure, use a...no, don’t pour it in your mouth!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wait, you put it in the microwave? Did you leave the spoon in it? The metal spoo-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Greg, where’s the measuring cup? Why is it in the blender? No, don’t hit that but-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Smoke? Something’s on fire. Not the oven, not the microwave, not the...Greg! Drop and roll!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mostly error, in retrospect. Before long I started to dial back the disasters, thanks to Dad playing lifeguard and keeping an eye on me. He knew a few tricks from college, so that helped.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay, the chicken is still raw on the inside, so what does that tell you?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Brown rice actually needs extra time. Stanley, can you explain why?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Use butter. I don’t care what the container says, I can totally believe it’s not butter. Just...no.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wait, what kind of pepper did the recipe say to use? What do you mean you used ‘all of them?’”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sorry I’m late, Melody needed help with work. Um, unrelated...why’s that fire truck out front?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The neighbors only called the fire department once, and they were nice enough not to lecture us too much. Plus, they told me that my cookies were only ‘slightly terrible.’ Winning!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anyway, by the time Monday rolled around, I was ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Monday, January 24, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor pulled out her bag lunch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo had a salad and some unidentified burger-like substance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just sat there with my backpack, pretending to look for something inside of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allen pulled out his usual container, but then I gently reached over and swiped it from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, much as I appreciate your enjoyment of my cooking, I only brought enough for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s okay, Allen.” I shifted his food around to my other side, and pulled out two plastic containers, reveling in the feeling of having everyone’s eyes on me. I gently slid one in front of Allen, put the other in front of me, and then lifted the lid off both with a flourish. “I brought enough for both of us. Turmeric rice salad with chicken!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had a few burn marks on it, the rice was kind of clumpy, the spinach looked paler than it had yesterday, and the sauce was kind of chunky...but I’d only had so much time to cook this morning. To his credit, Allen didn’t immediately recoil (as George had when I gave him a sample yesterday), and instead just picked up his spoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he took a portion, and without a moment’s hesitation put it in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For several long moments the only thing I could do was look at his face as he chewed, made a few odd noises, and then swallowed. Finally, as I felt like my heart was going to leap out of my chest, he smiled, and said, “Thank you, Greg. I really appreciate this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” I looked away, glad that Taylor and Theo were muttering to each other about something and not really paying attention to us. I had been so worried about grabbing his food and making him mad, or that he’d hate it, or so many other things, it was a real weight off my shoulders for him to like it. “You mean it wasn’t too terrible? It wasn’t too...anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate that you made this for me. I was a little jealous before, hearing that you were going to learn from your mother, but after the way you described her skills I can see why you went to her.” I smiled at his praise, and made a mental note to tell Mom. Allen took a few more bites of my lunch, nodding and getting through almost half of it before continuing. “The flavor profile is very...unique, and the way the chicken is so tender is quite surprising.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I wasn’t really sure from the recipes I found online, so I used a lot of turmeric. Apparently it’s really good for you, so I think I used more than I needed to.” He nodded thoughtfully, and took another bite as I continued to explain. “Plus, I was thinking that if I was already boiling the rice, why not put the chicken in there too, and then the rice gets a chicken flavor?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see. That explains a few things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Galvanized by his positive reviews, I took out my own spoon and dug in. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Bitter. Rubbery. Slimy. Squishy. Nasty. Acid. Chewy. Eyes watering, stomach seizing, gonna-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Allen’s hand on my shoulder turned me. I saw that he had a paper bag, and I grabbed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>HURK-BLAARGH</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>One vomit session later, I looked up from my impromptu barf bag to see that a few dozen students had cleared out from our general vicinity. Taylor and Theo were still in place, looking worried and also slightly amused, but wiped the smiles off their faces after a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I only had eyes for Allen, though. He had slid my remaining food off to the side, and was poking at it with a spoon. He was probably annoyed, and I wasn’t having trouble figuring out why. I mean, I was the one who had nearly poisoned us both, why wouldn’t he be angry? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Allen.” My words appeared to shock him, and he turned to face me and started shaking his head. I held up a hand, using the other to grab some napkins and wipe at my eyes and mouth. “Ptoo! I was so proud of making it well last time that I must have skipped a step or something this morning. You didn’t have to choke it down just to be nice to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That wasn’t why I was ‘choking’ it down, Greg.” Allen took another bite, against all odds and despite my previous reaction. I could now see that his eyes were tearing a little, but despite that he chewed, swallowed, and then smiled. “I was happy for the gift, and that you tried so hard for me. Sure, you made a few mistakes, but I have a high tolerance for spice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It made me throw up, Allen...I think we can both agree it was pretty bad.” I started to get up, and then stopped when he grabbed my arm. I looked down to see him holding the container I’d given him. “No, it’s okay, you can just toss it. Every time I look at that container I’ll just think of-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Allen, you know how to cook this recipe, right?” Taylor cut in, and we both turned to see her elbowing Theo for some reason. At a nod from Allen, she grinned. “So, Greg, why don’t you ask Allen to teach you? I mean, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> the expert, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s a good point. He would know better, and apparently he can survive when I screw up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, okay. Yeah, I guess. Hey, Allen?” I sat back down, sliding my nasty food (and barf bag) off to the side, then handed Allen his own container back. He took it, but didn’t take his eyes off me as I continued, “Maybe, if you’re not doing anything this week, or weekend-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not.” He interrupted, then coughed and shook his head. “Sorry, sorry. Please, go on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess if you have time, could you come over sometime and teach me more about this recipe?” He seemed to be holding his breath, and I realized that I probably lived kind of far from him. “I mean, my Dad can probably give you a ride home after, if it’s too-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it’s fine, I can get a lift.” He rotated his food in his hands, then put it in his bag. “Maybe after school today? Unless that’s too-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No that’s okay!” I looked away and saw both Theo and Taylor ignoring us, then turned back to Allen. I was panicking a little, and got up. I patted his shoulder, laughing. “Well, I...um...gotta go get cleaned up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I started grabbing my bag and trash, noting Taylor and Theo trying to hide smiles. They were probably happy that I was going to learn not to poison myself anymore. As for Allen, he was staring down at his food, but was just playing with it instead of eating it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The thing that really struck me was that even though I’d fed him poison, he looked really happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was pretty happy, too. Finally, after so many years of hoping and wishing...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had invited a friend over to my house!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest of the school day seemed to just fly by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bus ride home, all four of us chatted about a variety of things. I think Taylor and Theo noticed Allen and I were kind of nervous, so both were taking the lion’s share of conversation duties. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor told a funny story about the time she helped her father make lasagna, and they ran out of the right kind of noodle...so it ended up a big overcooked noodle medley. Meanwhile, Theo mentioned the time he tried to make a birthday cake for his step-mother and had used salt instead of sugar. He looked annoyed, talking about her, but still laughed with the rest of us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually Taylor and Theo got off, and then it was just Allen and I. We made smalltalk, but then the bus paused at his stop...a few seconds went by...and we were off again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No going back now. I really did invite a friend over. Crap! I should have asked my parents!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, they weren’t home, so I had time to worry about that later. We dropped our bags in my room, and I saw Allen looking at one of my posters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next thing I knew, I was giving him a tour of some of my stuff, since he wasn’t really as big into cape culture as Taylor and I. We somehow ended up covering most of the house on the tour, and then through sheer coincidence, ended up in the kitchen at the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stood there, hands on the countertop, looking out the window. The silence made me nervous. I had just been talking for nearly ten minutes straight, and aside from some nods and smiles he hadn’t responded at all. Was I boring him? Was this what kids did at each other’s houses?</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Crap, what else can I say? No, I’ve said too much. What do I do though? Do I just say-</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, show me the recipe you were using.” Allen, glorious and wonderful Allen, decided to step in and take over the situation. I did a little mental dance of joy, and then pulled out the handwritten version of the recipe I had been using. I started to go to the fridge to get the ingredients (we’d bought a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of rice, chicken, and veggies after my first disaster), but he placed an arm in my way. “There are a few problems with this recipe, Greg. Might I make some suggestions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wordlessly, I turned and grabbed a pad of fresh paper and a pen, then handed them to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In moments he was at it, and I leaned over his shoulder to see him rewriting the recipe in two columns. Soon I saw the first problem...I had way too many ingredients. He circled some of them, and then turned the paper to face me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, the recipe that I make at home has the circled ingredients, as well as a few other things, like sliced almonds and mint leaves. Don’t worry about garnishes like that for now, we need to focus on making the recipe correctly with just the base ingredients.” Allen handed me the list, having placed little stars next to six ingredients. “Go grab these ingredients, and then I’ll walk you through it. We’re just going to make a basic version of it, so I can see your cooking style.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the next hour, I made some nervous mistakes, sure... </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Where’s the salt? Wait, no, this is pepper! Greg, why is your pepper in the saltshaker?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you using a knife to stir? The one you cut the raw...I don’t care if the water’s boiling, that’s unsanitary!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>...but I also had a lot of success. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“This rice is perfect. See how it fluffs up with the fork? Now, remember not to scrape the pot…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Allen taught me some handy tricks...even unrelated to the recipe, and I took several notes…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“By adding white vinegar to the water first, the egg will crack more easily. See, it’s because-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>We also talked about things that had nothing to do with cooking.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Honestly, I wish that I had kept eating lunch with you, my brother’s friends were all terrible.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Wait, then why didn’t you? Allen, you’ve never been the sort to bend to peer pressure…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“My brother forced me. He kept me close, even made me stop da...hanging out with someone.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Damn, I’m sorry I brought it up. At least now you’re free to...crap, the water’s boiling over!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time my parents got home, the house smelled amazing, and they were very impressed with what we’d created. In fact, since there was so much of it, I decided to be brave and ask Allen if he wanted to stay over for dinner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked unsure, but I threw an arm over his shoulder and whined that I couldn’t take credit for all this great food by myself. He smiled at the praise, then finally agreed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks again, Allen.” I grinned at him, feeling like I was going to sleep for days. I’d had more than my fair share of food, having barely eaten anything after barfing at lunch. “We made so much, I’m looking forward to having this for lunch the next few days. Maybe next week, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand, Greg.” Allen nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall near me. We were both waiting outside, his brother on the way to pick him up, and I appreciated that it had been unseasonably warm the last few nights. “In fact, if you want a few new recipes to try, I can copy down a few and give them to you tomorrow. I tend to prepare all my meals for the week on Sunday, so that I can save time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That makes a lot of sense, actually.” I nodded, then rolled my neck and sighed. “If you have any with a lot of protein, I’m in. I need to start exercising more, and apparently I’m going to need a lot of that stuff. My...um...doctor told me that maybe the reason I got so sick was because I wasn’t in very good shape.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, well I have a few I can send you. Also, if you need a gym...I know a good one close to school. I saw your father’s weights on your tour, and they seem too heavy for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, don’t I know it.” I winced, remembering the time I had dropped a weight on my foot. “But thanks, for both the recipes and the gym idea. I’ll have to check it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you know…” Allen trailed off, looking up at the sky, then down the street where we saw a car approaching. He turned back to me and spoke quickly. “I had a lot of fun tonight and would like to do this again. I’m...um...free on Thursday. Want to go to the gym...together? After school?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s a really good idea, and I’m sure Mom and Dad would agree. Oh! I should tell the others!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, yeah!” I nodded as an idea came to me, mirroring his smile. “Also, we should tell Taylor and Theo about it. I’ll bet they’d really appreciate working out with actual professionals instead of just lifting heavy stuff and running up stairs. Could we take them, as well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” His face fell, and I guess he felt bad about not having thought to mention them as well. He nodded, then turned to move away as a car pulled into the driveway. “Yes, I’d love to have them as well. We should ask them tomorrow. Anyway, have a good night, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I waved at him as they pulled away, Allen’s brother laughing and slapping his brother on the back. I was sure he was happy that his quiet brother was making friends, even though Allen looked as embarrassed as I’d have been if my parents did that to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, I was faced with that </span>
  <em>
    <span>exact</span>
  </em>
  <span> situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom and Dad had both finished cleaning up, and seemed to be having a quiet conversation, but went silent as I entered. I started to head up to my room, but was a little surprised when they called me back down to talk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting on the couch with them on either side of me, they started talking about how proud they were of me for making a new friend. Dad mentioned how he had met Allen after the Locker, and had thanked him for his part in saving my life. He said that the boy had some great things to say about me, and Mom added that Allen had seemed really happy to spend time with us tonight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mostly just nodded along, feeling kind of uncomfortable. I mean, it was nice to have them feeling as happy about me making a friend as I was, but the way they kept trading glances was kind of creepy. It seemed like there was something they wanted to say, but what?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, I just yawned and told them I was really tired, then went up to bed. But I couldn’t sleep, because thoughts kept running through my head. Also, I couldn’t figure out what Mom and Dad had been trying to talk to me about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was kind of reminded of the way Taylor and Theo had been acting strange, setting all this up-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Allen shoved nazis and students aside, to save my life.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He testified for me, saying he was impressed by my bravery.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He said that he cared about me, hugged me, and kept saying nice things.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Allen is always saying kind things, and Taylor jokingly calls our banter ‘flirting.’</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He ate my nasty food, said it was delicious, like some anime protagonist.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor got mad at Theo for sending me to my Mom, then she suggested Allen teach me...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He came over, helped me learn to cook, and stayed for dinner.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was nervous about meeting my parents, and they were acting like he was more than a friend...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Just now, he offered to go out somewhere with me, and was sad when I invited others.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, I’m an idiot.” I grumbled, putting my hands over my face as it hit me. “I didn’t just invite a friend over to my house for the first time...I went on my first </span>
  <em>
    <span>date</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and totally flubbed setting up the second one!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, do I want a second date? I mean, I like Allen, but do I like him...that way? I don’t know.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought dating was supposed to be easy!” I muttered. “TV and movies lied to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Groaning, I got back out of bed and turned on my computer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hopefully Sveta was still awake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*****************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: No, this isn’t about to turn into a romance fic with wacky date hijinks. Instead, next time we’ll see Greg and friends go to a totally serious location that has nothing to do with beautiful people or physical attraction...a Gym!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0045"><h2>45. 3.5: Learning to Compensate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>
    <em>Dr. Vasquez Email Question:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> I can’t help but notice that when you talk about your friends, you compliment them in different ways. I wonder if you are aware of this? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Greg:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> Huh, I guess I never really thought about it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Theo is someone that I identify by emotions. He has a huge heart, always making sure the rest of us are doing okay. He tells jokes to lighten the mood, asks questions when we have problems, and is always willing to go the extra mile to make the rest of us feel better. Even after visiting his dad, he’s still been a lot nicer that I thought I deserved, and he’s so supportive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sveta...I guess I kind of see her as being kind of like a cool cousin. She’s honest with me, points out my faults, but also supports me when I’m too afraid to have my own back. She also knows what it’s like to be bullied, in her own way.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Taylor is someone whose mind I always focus on. I’m ashamed that when her bullies insulted her looks, I never tried to defend her for being beautiful in other ways. Honesty, bravery, and a steadfast attitude. She’s the sort of person I wished I could be. Even when I asked her out once, she let me down gently, and I’m not sure I would have done the same in her shoes.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As for Allen...I find myself always noticing him physically. He’s like the ideal version of a guy, I think. Strong, handsome, and tough. He fought to save my life, clearing the way for paramedics. He’s always shaking my hand, putting an arm around my shoulders, and not afraid to be seen hugging other guys.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They’re all friends I’m proud to have, but sometimes I wonder if they feel the same about me.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Also, I’m kind of afraid of what I’d do if our relationship ever changed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’m barely good at being a friend, after all.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Tuesday, January 25, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Sveta had been too busy to talk, unfortunately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently there had been an ‘incident’ with one of the new patients in her hall. She told me it was her fault, and seemed really pissed. I had noticed when she got ticked at me for all the self-deprecation that extremes of emotion made her slip back into bad spelling. This was no different...typos galore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed really broken up about it, and I tried to comfort her, but she said she didn’t deserve my kindness. I tried anyway, telling her that I still loved her and would keep being her friend no matter what. She laughed, and eventually she told me she was ‘going to fix this’ and make up for ‘being a monster.’ Before I could find out what any of that meant, she logged off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was wide awake at that point, and stayed online just in case she returned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With nothing better to do...I made the horrifying mistake of trying to do my own internet research on romance. Not knowing any of the right words, I just kind of searched by the questions I had, and that took me to a lot of strange sites over the next hour. None of them helped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, I woke up just as confused as before, except now I was tired and had had some really crazy dreams. I made a mental note to never tell Larry about them, no matter how big the mental scars had been. No sense in risking that ever getting back to my parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of my parents, I very briefly considered talking to them about all this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I laughed, shook my head, and continued sneaking out of the house without breakfast.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, I’m a 15 year old whose parents were a Podiatrist and a Librarian. The last time they tried to give me a talk like that (Birds and Bees, age 11), it had contained so many charts and anecdotes that I’d burned most of it out of my memories. Dad had even told a story about something involving feet, and Mom had kicked him out of the house for an hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, is that why I’m having so much trouble with this? Maybe. Geez, now what? Taylor?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor was no help. Not because she made fun of me or had no ideas, but rather because every time I started to ask her about it I’d get flustered about the words and the context, and then just change the subject. I kept trying, but something about this just felt so personal and strange.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time the bus dropped us off I had fully exhausted my supply of smalltalk and parahuman topics, glad that Allen had been talking to Theo a few seats up the whole time. He’d looked over at me a few times, smiling more than once, but never approached me. I felt a surge of panic run through me each time, unsure what to say or do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ended up going to class, and decided to put off figuring this out until later...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Thursday, January 27, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>By Thursday, I’d made no more progress, but at least it didn’t seem like there was any rush. I kept expecting Allen to bring it up, or for him to be mad at me for not catching on. Nope, he was just as friendly as ever and it was almost like things had gone back to normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the same time, things weren’t back to normal, because after school we were all doing something entirely new. Normally, Allen would be going to his workout club, preparing for the Arcadia baseball season in March. Theo would have been visiting his tutor, Taylor would’ve been going to her part time job, and I’d be heading home to wreck the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead we were all walking behind Allen as he led the way to that gym he’d mentioned. He was also looking at his phone with some annoyance, and as I got closer I saw what looked like an online test of some kind. Unfortunately he sped up at that point, and I wondered if it was a privacy thing...or because he really was ticked over how our date ended.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I’m overthinking this. I mean, I’m ugly, skinny, and loud...why would he want to date me?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Theo picked up on our unease. “Hey Taylor, have you told Greg and Allen about your new friend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“New friend? What are you...oh!” Taylor’s face lit up and she dug out the cell phone that Danny had given her. She fiddled with it as we kept walking, “So, after two weeks of me talking nonstop about dogs in need of homes, and considering that our basement is now clean, I convinced Dad to let me help out. He’s pitching in a little, but since she’s so old she mostly just sleeps…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Allen slowed down and leaned in as Taylor held out her phone, and we all saw a short-haired, red and brown dog, its snout having a few flecks of white around it. It had several scars around its flanks and face, but looked strong and solid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, so you adopted a dog?” I had never known that Taylor was a dog person, but working for a dog shelter it was probably only a matter of time. I paused, then asked, “How are...they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's she, Greg, and she’s a Rhodesian Ridgeback. Kinda deaf. A few more days of training and I should be able to take her home. Dad promised to look in on her, since he usually gets home before me nowadays, and we get along really well.” She smirked, looking around and then letting us in on the joke. “Want to guess her name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We threw out a few names, everything from Red to Butch to Rhodey, but in the end Taylor shook her head and shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, she’s got red hair, she’s a bitch, and she’s my friend...so I’m calling her Emma.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All four of us cracked up, and the rest of the walk passed quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the outside, the gym was nothing special. Brick walls, about two stories, and a glass front that had blinds down for privacy. Probably the most unique thing about it was the big neon sign on the front, which was probably the strangest name for a gym I’d ever seen.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>COMPENSATION</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Allen, I’ve gotta ask...the name?” Taylor spoke up, gesturing at the sign. “I mean, seriously?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m honestly not sure, Taylor. You’d have to ask the owner.” Allen shrugged and held the door open. His face was blank, and I wasn’t sure if he was setting us up for a joke or just being honest. “He supposedly has an excellent sense of humor, so it may just be that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The inside was a lot more impressive, and I ignored the sound of the door shutting loudly behind me as I stood beside the others and just looked around. Though I was no expert on weights or machinery, I had to admit that everything was clean, shiny, and certainly looked safe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The left wall was a giant mirror and had movement machines, from stationary exercise bikes to treadmills, about four of each. The right wall had lifting machines, more weights than I’d ever seen in one place, and different bars hanging on the walls. But the real centerpiece of the building was...well, literally in the center. A full-size boxing ring, by look of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were two people in it, both looking a few years older than me, and as the door slammed the larger looked in our direction. The smaller of the two dashed in and took several wild swings at his opponent, all of which were dodged. As the attacker tried to back off and catch his breath, his opponent followed and landed a heavy blow to the boy’s sternum, knocking him off his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he landed, he said a word that anyone who has ever gone to Winslow has probably seen scraped or painted on a wall, especially if you know E88 kids. His opponent, rather than offering the boy a hand up, instead just turned and left the ring. He stripped off his protective gear, shaking his head as he spat out a mouthguard, and approached us without losing a step.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about Hans, he’s still learning that certain words mean you instantly lose a match. I’m sure he’ll think about it </span>
  <em>
    <span>when he’s cleaning the ring, from canvas to ropes</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He shouted that last part over his shoulder, then held a hand out to us. “I’m Brian, assistant trainer here at Compensation. So, are you thinking of joining?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Allen and the others shook his hand, I was looking between him and his fallen opponent. Even now, the angry teenager was climbing to his feet, stripping off his gear, and throwing it on the floor. I stepped behind Allen before I could stop myself, and let out a breath as the boy ignored us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was glad that I hadn’t had to explain my reaction to anyone, because I really wasn’t sure which of my two revelations was more surprising.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that Brian was a parahuman…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or that the kid he’d just beaten was Knife Guy!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Knife Guy (Hans?) didn’t seem to have recognized me, and in mere minutes was scrubbing at the ring with the movements of someone who’d done so before. Was this something all members had to do, or was he getting special punishment? Better question, how had a member of the E88 ended up at this gym? Did he recognize me? Was he...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried to keep Allen between us just in case, and barely heard Brian talking. The gym’s owner was out at the moment, and Brian was one of several employees who traded off duties. He was professional and polite about it, even if this seemed like his first time giving a tour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the words he used were completely foreign to me, but it looked like Allen knew what he was talking about. I figured that worst case, I could just ask Allen to break it all down for us later on. It was mostly standard gym stuff, though. Take care of weights, clean up after yourself, bring your own lock if you want to use a locker, and only use the ring when supervised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a monthly fee, but since we were students we’d get a discount. Plus, Brian said that we could get half off on any of the classes being taught. At the moment, since they had only opened a few months back, there was a self-defense class and a yoga class. I had to admit that pretty much everything he said had me interested, even though I knew I’d be sore as heck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he was gathering up the paperwork, Taylor was on the phone with her dad and Theo was talking to Allen about something. Bored, I decided to take a look at Brian’s powers.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s...is that an Angry Cloud? Wait, why does he have Sophia’s power? No, it feels different...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were staring at me.” I was in the middle of examining it when I heard a voice at my side, and was so shocked upon seeing Hans beside me that I snapped Brian’s power into my core. Unable to think of a reply, I stared at him silently until he spoke again, “I apologize for the word I used earlier, and hope that it will not make you report me to management. I am...sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...no, it’s no problem.” I lowered my voice, shaking my head and twisting my lips up a bit. This supposedly fooled facial recognition stuff, right? He’d last heard me screaming, and it was dark, so...wait, was I being more suspicious by acting like that? Crap. “I know that bad habits are hard to break. You...um...are trying to break them, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Habits are things we break. A lifestyle is not so easily changed, no matter what people may say.” He scoffed, shaking his head and walking away. I could hear him muttering under his breath in what sounded like German, and found it hard to feel sorry for him. He’d chased me, threatened me, and more...was it bad that I enjoyed his comeuppance?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, will you be signing on?” Brian’s voice drew me back in his direction, and I saw that he was right next to me. While Taylor finished her phone call and Theo whispered with Allen, I realized that Brian had left four forms and some pens on a nearby table. Brian leaned closer to me, “Sorry about Hans, he’s a bit of an acquired taste. My boss has a thing for community service, and keeps telling us there’s a good heart somewhere under all the...other stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded uncertainly, liking the sound of Brian’s boss, and followed him so I could start filling out the membership form. This place was sounding better all the time. Close to school, combat training, and there was a parahuman working here! Maybe Brian was an independent hero?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor took the seat next to me, grumbling about how her boss was probably going to kill her if she </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> join. Her dad had given her the okay, especially when he found out that there was a self-defense class. He’d also been happy to hear that her friends were signing up, as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that Allen sighed, admitting that he was not going to be signing up. He was already part of a workout group at school, preparing for the upcoming baseball season, and knew that overdoing it could be detrimental to his health. We all told him it was okay, and assured him that he was the one who had brought us here...so really we had him to thank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Theo took a seat as well, giving Taylor and I small smiles. He admitted that working out with friends would probably help keep him motivated to lose weight, and at that Brian laughed. I looked up at the older boy, and suddenly I felt really annoyed at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what’s so funny about that?” I felt a sort of cold fury sweep through me at the thought of this guy making fun of my friend for his weight. Crap, so this was Brian’s personality? A powerful sense of protectiveness? I carefully pushed it back down, regaining control, and let out a breath before trying again. “Sorry, but I don’t want you laughing at my friend for that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t really laughing at him, man. I’m sorry about that.” Brain’s smile faded, and he held up a hand. He started to speak, then paused, looking between Theo and I. “Wait, you’re Theo’s friends, then? Greg, right? So I guess that would make these...Taylor and Allen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes?” I was confused at this, and as I waited for things to make sense went ahead and dropped Brian’s power. No sense in making things more complicated, after all. “You already know us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys, may I introduce Brian Laborn.” Theo gestured between us, sighing. “My tutor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, the same tutor who makes him run and exercise? What are the odds?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few minutes, Theo’s face as red as a beet, we got things worked out. Brian’s main point of confusion had been that he’d offered Theo a membership here more than a dozen times, but the boy had always turned him down before. Theo admitted that the reason he’d always turned Brian down was because he didn’t want to leave his friends behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was actually kind of heartwarming, really. I couldn’t say that to Theo without him going into his shell, but I think he knew on some level that we were really proud of him. Not just for making that sacrifice for us...but for reminding us of the fact that he was an awesome friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ten minutes later, Brian handed freshly laminated cards to Theo, Taylor, and I. They had our names, the date, and holes punched for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Student, January, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and</span>
  <em>
    <span> February.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He promised us that if we made it a full year, we’d get a better card...or whenever the owner got around to making a better system for members. We all had a laugh over that, and were joined by a new voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Laughter is the best medicine!” It was a loud voice, and for the second time that day I found myself wanting to hide behind someone. This time I caught myself, remembering that the last time I’d seen this person my identity had been very well hidden. The voice called out again, “Brian, I see you managed to finally snag a few new members, congrats!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few inches taller than me, arms thicker than my thighs, body covered in athletic wear, a thick bracelet with a blinking light on his ankle, and a face that looked red from the cold weather. But no matter how you dressed him up, with lungs like that I’d have to be deaf not to call him…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bellows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or rather, Deacon, as Brian referred to him. He was a regular here, and made a point of shaking hands with each of us. The man had supposedly been coming here daily for weeks, and was far more upbeat and happy than when I’d last seen him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I mean, the last time I saw him he was waving around a gun, screaming at me, and threatening to shoot at PRT agents. I wondered how he’d ended up here, and whether that blinking ankle monitor on his leg had anything to do with the reason he wasn’t in jail or an asylum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We need to get going if we’re going to catch the bus. Allen and Theo will meet us there, c’mon.” Before I could subtly ask Brian more about either Hans or Deacon, Taylor grabbed my arm. She started to drag me away, and I saw that Allen and Theo had already left. “Brian, it was great to meet you, and I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, well, I look forward to seeing you both again. Don’t either of you think I didn’t see your eyes light up when I mentioned that self-defense class.” Brian winked at us, and we both waved as we went out the door. “Classes are Fridays. Later!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Outside, I could see that the sidewalks were clear, the sun was at least an hour from setting, and soon fell into step alongside Taylor. We sat on the bench at the bus stop and leaned back, for protection from the slight breeze if nothing else. Nobody else was there, so we had privacy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something felt off, and as I squinted at the schedule, I realized we were twenty minutes early. Odd...why had Taylor dragged me out here so quick, or split us off from Allen and Theo?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My suspicions were confirmed when Taylor turned to me, looked deep into my eyes, and asked, “So, how did things go with you and Allen? Good first date? Bad? Awesome?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stared at her, then took a breath and finally admitted, “Confusing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” She screwed her face up, “Really? Are you sure?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Taylor, I didn’t realize it was a date until </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> he left.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously? I thought you two...oh crap. Greg...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked guilty, and it finally hit me why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wasn’t sure why it had taken me so long to figure this out, but Taylor had engineered the date back at Arcadia. She’d probably seen us “flirting” before and set something up, and now it seemed to hit her that the train had derailed. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> trying to help though...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I run you through it?” Still, I’d been wanting to talk to her about this all week, so I tried to clear my thoughts as she rapidly nodded at me. “First, I gave him a tour of the house and answered his questions about-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, time out.” Taylor recovered a little and held up her hands in a T-shape. “That’s what you did with me. Were you trying to date me before, or is that just something you do for everyone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dang, that’s a good question. I like spending time with both of them, but...I don’t know. Maybe?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably the second one, but then again I’ve only ever had a friend over twice now.” That was the safest answer, and I was already dealing with trying to figure out how I felt about Allen. “If I ever invite a third friend over, we can use that as a tiebreaker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right, sorry.” She nodded, and gestured for me to continue. “Proceed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, after that he started teaching me to cook the recipe, we just talked about random stuff for a while, and then my parents got home.” I tried to remember if there was anything special about the meeting, but nothing was coming to mind. “Dad had met Allen before, for the lawsuit, and I asked if he could stay over for the food we’d made. We had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> of food, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Conversation hadn’t been about anything in particular, and I told her how we’d mostly talked about Allen’s interest in Arcadia’s baseball, because of how granular it was, and my plans to cook my own lunches. We had told some stories about various cooking disasters (those weren’t going to run out anytime soon), mentioned Theo and Taylor a little, and then started cleaning up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then we talked about meeting up again, for this gym thing, and I suggested that you two would probably like to go as well.” Taylor put a hand over her eyes, shaking her head. “Yes, I know, I’m dense. His brother seemed oddly proud of him though, or it could have been teasing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, probably the second one.” Taylor’s face twisted a little, and she leaned in closer. “Allen once told me that his brother forced him to break up a guy because it would ‘make the Winslow football team look bad.’ He sounds like a real asshole, honestly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I guess I really was spoiled by having an awesome brother like George. Poor Allen...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Either way, was this what you were trying to ask me all week?” She rolled her eyes at the expression on my face. “I spent two weeks hanging around the human bitch Emma, I know what a guy looks like when he’s pining. Allen’s crushing on you, so what’s wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is going to sound really bad, especially after you just said that.” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my voice, but Taylor’s last sentence had made my stomach feel like an icy pit. “I don’t know if I like him like that. I mean, I’ve never done this...any of this...before. I’m still getting used to being a friend, and don’t know if this is that...or something more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, it doesn’t have to be either/or. Just tell him you need some time, and want to keep being friends until you figure things out. He’s just as much of a teenager as you, he’ll get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if he doesn’t?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then he really got ripped off on all those psychology books he’s always reading.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We both laughed over that one, and wondered just how she knew so much about this sort of-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, how do you know so much about all this, anyway?” The words suddenly came to me, because this whole ‘love guru’ thing Taylor was pulling was really kind of strange. “I mean, are you secretly some sort of advice columnist for the local paper? Watch a lot of rom-coms?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...well...when Dad found out that my three best friends were boys, he tried to give me </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Talk</span>
  </em>
  <span> again.” She kept talking before I could comment, and I saw her ears turning red. “Yeah, so a week ago, he gave me some books that used to belong to Mom. A few of them talked about...other types of relationships. Like what I </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought </span>
  </em>
  <span>you and Allen had, or...girls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What the heck does that...oh. Well, Danny did say that his wife had a girlfriend before him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“There were notes in the margins, so it was like Mom was right there with me. Teaching me. Telling me it was okay to feel like that. That I wasn’t....” She trailed off and I felt a lump in my throat, realizing what she’d nearly said. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help you two, jumped to conclusions, and made a big mess. Putting myself in the middle of this was a mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” I shook my head slightly, clearing my throat before pushing on. “This wasn’t a mistake.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But it was!” She elbowed me, then crossed her arms and huffed. “I’m like one of those idiots who sees a documentary and thinks they’re an expert. I saw Allen flirting with you, you seemed to like him back, and figured I could help make a difference. But instead I just screwed up-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So this is what it’s like for the others, when they hear me crapping all over myself. It’s bad.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop. You knew that I was as dense as a dwarf star and Allen sucked at flirting.” She started giggling, and I asked, “Am I wrong? No? Then stop beating yourself up for trying to help us! How about this: you keep being an awesome friend </span>
  <em>
    <span>who asks permission next time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, loan me your mom’s books, and in return...I’ll sass you when you find a girl or guy that you like. Deal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I held out my hand, and was glad when she grabbed it, a deal struck between two friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d learned a lesson about honesty, and I’d been reminded that I wasn’t alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, now I was pretty sure I knew what to say to Allen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the ride home, I made sure I was sitting next to Allen. Taylor and Theo were a few seats up, but I saw her smiling at me. We’d planned this out in the moments before they arrived, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allen started talking, and I turned to face him with new confidence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He warned me that the next few weeks were going to make me sore as heck, with all the new exercises I’d be doing. He handed over a list of stretches, and recommended that I increase my food and sleep starting immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I thanked him for the list, and we reviewed his hand-written notes for a few minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then we ran out of things to talk about, and sat there as the bus rolled along.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I looked at Allen, thinking about how much I liked doing things with him. I liked talking to him, learning from him, and having him eat with my parents. Most of all, I’d realized Taylor was right. Allen and I did have </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> between us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What I needed was time to figure out if it was different from normal friendship. So...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Allen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Greg?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be honest, I didn’t realize you liked me until an hour after you’d left.” Allen stared at me blankly, but I thought I saw his lips twitch. Pushing my fears down, I held out a hand as if offering him a deal. “I need time to figure myself out, and want to keep doing cool things with you...so can we stay like this for a while?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grasped my hand, and I’m not sure which was brighter, the setting sun or Allen’s smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d figure all this out eventually, but it had to start with me being honest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the meantime, I honestly needed to get in shape!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>**********************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Now that we have a gym, and a kid who wants to get in shape, you know what that means! Time for a training montage!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0046"><h2>46. 3.6: Learning to Work It Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b> <em>Dr. Vasquez Email Question:</em> </b> <em> Last session I suggested we pause these emails, now that you’ve answered a few dozen questions. You seemed okay with it, why is that?  </em></p><p><b> <em>Greg:</em> </b> <em> Because I’ve changed. I’m not who I was as much, and I’m becoming who I want to be. </em></p><p>
  <em> I still have problems, but now I know why I have them. I can see my flaws, try to overcome them, and have stopped giving up on myself so much. Every day, I change a bit more.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> That’s why I’m not bothered by us stopping these email exchanges. Just like my Secret Journal and my Fake Fanfiction, this was just another stepping stone on the way to a better Greg.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m not there yet, but I’m further along than I was. I just need to keep asking my friends for help, being there for them, and focusing on our future instead of wallowing in my past. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Even if we’re afraid...my friends and I can try to support each other. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Because that’s how we get stronger.  </em>
</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, January 29, 2011]</b>
</p><p>My first foray to the gym was alone. It wasn’t just that I was nervous about being seen, a skinny weakling in shorts and a t-shirt, but also because both Theo and Taylor were busy. Of course, showing up when almost nobody else was there did have its drawbacks...</p><p>
  <em> I have no idea what any of these machines do. Crap, maybe I should have come earlier. </em>
</p><p>It wasn’t long before someone helped me. Not Brian this time, but it was actually someone at least a decade older than him. I realized from the picture on the wall that he was the owner.</p><p>While I could have described him in many ways (red hair, well-built, smiled a lot), what stood out most to me was that he had a haze around him, so...parahuman. The Breaker power was easy to spot, but I was trying to puzzle out the other powers when he told a joke.</p><p>I recognized his voice all the sudden, and ground to a halt. I mean, he was one of the three heroes I idolized, so of course I was going to know him.</p><p>Assault.</p><p>Or, as he introduced himself, Ethan Jenkins.</p><p>Before I had time to gush, he was putting me on machines to make a workout plan. </p><p>Weights...were a lot heavier than I’d thought they would be.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, January 30, 2011]</b>
</p><p>The next day, I was sore as hell, but Allen texted me to say that was totally normal. Something about lactic acid and stretching, I didn’t really understand it all. Unfortunately he had a test to study for, but assured me that with stretching and time I’d be fine.</p><p>I figured that since my muscles were going to stretch anyway when I used them, I could kill two birds with one stone. I had a list of weights and such that Ethan had given me, and hurriedly set things up for a bench press. But just as I was laying down under the bar, I got interrupted.</p><p>“Whoa, stop! Stop right there!” I cringed, not only because of the volume of the voice or the fact that the other patrons in the gym were now staring at me, but because of who it was. I stood, putting the bar between us as Bellows...er, Deacon approached. “What are you doing, kid?”</p><p>“Working out?” I pulled the paper from my pocket and checked the weights, but I was in the right here. I felt my lip curl a little as Deacon looked it over, waiting for his apology. “What’s wrong?”</p><p>“What’s wrong is that you loaded up that bar and didn’t put any clips on it.” He pulled what looked like a grippy thing made of metal off the ground, and only then did I remember Ethan using them yesterday. “If you’d tilted that bar, the weights would have come off. Might have hurt yourself, or someone else. If you want, I can give you a few tips, since you’re new.”</p><p>I felt a surge of anger and embarrassment run through me. Even putting aside our past, he’d just run up and chewed me out in front of everyone. Now he was acting like he was some expert on safety, and all I could do was stare at the blinking bracelet on his ankle. His penance, from-</p><p>“Oh. Guess you saw that.” It was practically a whisper, and he started to turn around. “I’m not really one to talk about safety and consequences, huh? I’ll leave you alone. Sorry, kid.”</p><p>“How did you get it?” I felt my face heat up, the words having slipped out before I could stop them, and he paused. Then, before I could stop him, Deacon came back and sat at the other bench press. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me, I was just...sorry!”</p><p>“Nah, my therapist is always telling me I should be more open about this sort of thing, and if you’re gonna be a regular here you’ll find out eventually. These dopes love to gossip.” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder at a group of men across the room on treadmills. “I got it the same way you almost dropped those weights on yourself. Got too focused on my goal, ignored safety, and then it all came crashing down on me. I used to be a security guard…” </p><p>
  <em> ...and then a wannabe cape made you flip your shit, nearly shoot some people, and get foamed. </em>
</p><p>“My ego got the better of me, and when the chance came to prove myself I went all-in. Then some dweebs came along and snatched it all away, and I blew up at them. Put some people in danger, and I lost everything.” He stared down at his feet, taking deep breaths. A smile came to his face, suddenly. “But then I got a second chance. Those same dweebs saved my dumb ass.”</p><p>
  <em> Wait, Kalpin and Hobson? Why the hell would they help him after he nearly killed them? Pity? </em>
</p><p>“Turned out that as part of their due diligence, they dug up records implicating my bosses in a lot of bad stuff. They’d been siphoning funds from my security team, had us understaffed for years, and cancelled our psych evaluations. Those two spoke in my favor on the stand, even when their PRT lawyer was trying to lock me up, and got me a second chance.”</p><p>“Sounds like you really owe those guys. Er, if they were guys. Um...so now you’re doing better?”</p><p>“Eh, therapy, community service, and a job where I don’t have to scream at people. Plus it means I can come here more often, and help people. I mean, if they want help, anyway.”</p><p>“In that case, can you help me?” I smiled, thinking that if Kalpin and Hobson had given him a second chance, I could at least try. “I need to learn about gym safety. I...need to get strong.”</p><p>“Kid, I’d be happy to help you.” Deacon shook my uninjured hand, and I introduced myself. “Okay Greg, let’s start with the basics. Let me take you through the five G’s of Gym Safety...”</p><p>That night, I had dinner with Allen at a health-food place nearby, and he chewed me out for rushing. He seemed distracted by something, but I figured he was just worried about me.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Monday, January 31, 2011]</b>
</p><p>Entering the gym, I cringed when Deacon shouted my name, but then broke into laughter when he got whapped by the teen next to him. After changing, I was introduced to another employee.</p><p>He was a little older than me, a boy named Carlos who was almost as muscular as Brian, but with a sort of easy movement to him. Even if it weren’t for his Aegis-like powers, I recognized him from Arcadia. Carlos bragged that he’d been Ethan’s first employee, and taught yoga.</p><p>In fact, that was actually the reason I’d come today, Deacon having recommended the class. </p><p>“Mindfulness, meditation, focus, all are covered in my class.” Carlos shook my hand, then walked us to a room that already had two people inside. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce Greg.”</p><p>Besides Deacon, my classmates were a girl (Aisha) a few years younger than me and a woman (Celia) she kept calling ‘Mom.’ Both ended up being really cool. Aisha had an odd sense of humor and swore like a sailor, but Celia cracked up at half the stuff she said. I learned a lot about stretching and flexibility in that hour, and was thanking Deacon as we walked out.</p><p>Before I could say much, Aisha let out a shriek as Brian grabbed her up in a hug. Celia’s lack of panic and Aisha’s laughter led to me discovering that the three were related. Brian saw me watching and dragged all three over, congratulating me for surviving them for an hour. Both took issue with that, and only quit when he promised to take both out to dinner as an apology. </p><p>As they walked off, I overheard the siblings badgering their mother about her latest art project, and made a mental note to ask about that next time we had a lesson together. </p><p>For now, I copied Carlos’ power so it could heal me on the way home. I also wondered if blocking pain might help with some of my workout ideas...like hitting the heavy bag.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Wednesday, February 02, 2011]</b>
</p><p>“Do you know why I called you back here, Greg?” Ethan asked, as we walked down the short corridor leading to his office. A cluttered desk was the other end, twenty feet away from the heavy door Carlos was closing behind us, and then we rounded the corner and saw…</p><p>A much larger space than I had expected. Maybe thirty by thirty feet, a mat on the floor, incredible art painted on the walls, and extra equipment way at the back. So Ethan’s fabled office was some sort of private training room?</p><p>“I’m guessing some kind of secret training?” I smiled, as both men joined me and told me to sit across from them on the mat. “Or you want to show off this awesome artwork?”</p><p>“We can talk about the art donated by Brian’s talented mother later, this is serious.” Carlos shook his head, then settled back as Ethan put a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, but as you know, this place has security cameras, and as a result we’re aware of what happens inside and out.”</p><p>“Because of that, we know that yesterday you punched a heavy bag until your hands bled,” Ethan took over, and I felt a spike of fear go through me. “This room is private, and so I want you to feel safe knowing that we’re not angry. We’re just concerned that our newest Ward is literally beating himself up for some reason. Half my patrons are PRT, so if someone was-”</p><p>“No, that wasn’t it!” I held up my hands, mentally slapping myself for not realizing that both Aegis and Assault would probably know who I was. I hadn’t joined the Wards officially yet, but it was silly to think that having them both work here was just a strange coincidence. “I was just worried. I’m in terrible shape, can’t fight, and I’m joining the Wards in a few weeks. I need to get stronger and better, fast...and thanks to Carlos’ power I could heal from the damage anyway.”</p><p>“Greg, do you know why I called this place Compensation?” Ethan asked, and it didn’t escape my notice the way he rubbed at one of his fingers. As I shook my head, he sighed. “It was actually Carlos’ idea, so he gets a lot of the credit.”</p><p>“Well, I only suggested it because you were such a great mentor,” the Wards leader laughed, shoving his boss and barely reacting as the man remained motionless. “I asked if he was training me to take his mind off his...issues, and he turned it into a whole business.”</p><p>“True, but Carlos was also correct, I was just trying to distract myself.” Ethan poked the other boy with one finger, sending him flying through the air. Carlos stopped and hovered after a few feet, grinning at Ethan. “My marriage was falling apart because I rushed into it, and I was being a total asshole to everyone. I wanted to start fresh, make relationships with actual foundations, and find a way to create balance in my life. So instead of taking, I gave back...I taught.”</p><p>“Luckily he was actually decent at that, and now he’s running one of the top gyms in Brockton Bay. Mostly thanks to his employees.” Carlos crossed his arms, darting back as Ethan swiped at him. “But seriously, ever since he started teaching me and making me teach yoga, I’ve been more relaxed, mindful, and felt like a better leader. Even if my boss is a dope sometimes.”</p><p>“Jokes aside, my ex-wife is now my friend, my student is my employee, and I get to spend my time out of costume helping people find a balanced lifestyle.” Ethan waved a hand at one of the paintings, this one of someone who looked like Celia...meditating. “People give me their time and attention, and I help them find strength and balance. That’s what Compensation means.”</p><p>
  <em> And here I just thought it was some kind of joke about his pen- </em>
</p><p>“Also, it’s a dick joke, but that’s kind of obvious.” He shrugged and gestured at me to stand up. “Now, sappy stuff aside, how about I teach you how to throw a punch? Next week, maybe we can do some training with powers, but only if I think you’re ready.”</p><p>Getting trained by one of my heroes...so cool!</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, February 04, 2011]</b>
</p><p>As Theo and I changed in the locker room, I remarked that he looked as tired as I was. He explained he’d started jogging to school, and was still getting used to the trek. I complimented his ambition, then changed the subject when he started stuttering and thanking me. </p><p>Unfortunately, the new topic of discussion was Allen, and both Theo (and Taylor, a few minutes later) confirmed that he’d been skipping out on them as well. Every time one of us asked what class his ‘big test’ was for, or if we could help, he just changed the subject. All three of us were worried, but unsure how to help the normally stalwart Allen.</p><p>“Okay, lesson one…” Brian’s voice cut into my thoughts, and I looked up. “...how to fall down!”</p><p>There was no fighting that day. Just falling. Lots of falling. Falling on my back, side, and front.</p><p>Without Carlos’ power, I felt every bit of it, but that was okay.</p><p>Like Theo, I had to stick to it if I wanted to improve.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, February 11, 2011]</b>
</p><p>The following Friday, Theo missed self-defense because he wasn’t feeling well, so Brian and Carlos put on a bit of a show for us. We traded off, Taylor against me and Brian against Carlos, with them pointing out our mistakes and us goggling at their skill. I wondered what it would be like if they used their powers to fight, but even without them both were amazing.</p><p>
  <em> They said they spar all the time...no wonder they’re both so strong. Will that be me someday? </em>
</p><p>After the workout, Taylor invited me to walk with her to her job, having already given both Theo and Allen tours earlier in the month. I’d get to see dogs and meet her cool bosses, so I eagerly agreed. Soon, we stood outside of a building with the words <em> HELP HOUNDS </em> painted on it.</p><p>Taylor explained that they took in abused dogs (which Brockton Bay had a lot of, thanks to Hookwolf) and gave them a safe place to recover. Even better, some were trained as guard dogs, and as companions for the disabled. Still, the name of the place sounded familiar...</p><p>Even as we walked through and I saw the setup, I had to admit it was in really good shape for a warehouse full of dogs that was cared for by non-professionals. Taylor got paid, but I was starting to think she’d have worked for free given how she talked about her work and boss.</p><p>Speaking of her boss, apparently the woman actually lived here, and wouldn’t you know it...</p><p>“You know, when I saw the place was called <em> Help Hounds </em>…” I trailed off, glancing at Rachel as she lectured Taylor across the room, then turned back to glare at Lisa. The Thinker shrugged, as if that explained everything. “You guys aren’t involving Taylor in anything bad, are you?”</p><p>“Nope, this is entirely above board.” Lisa held her hand over her heart. “I promise, this is just the result of the town having too many dogs, my team having too much money, and my heart being three sizes too big. Mostly the last one. Taylor’s really special to me. To us, I mean.”</p><p>I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt, and not just because I saw her whispering to Taylor on my way out. The way Taylor burst out laughing, then said something to Rachel that made all three chuckle made me think maybe this was good for my friend. </p><p>I was still going to keep visiting her, just in case there was something else going on. </p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Tuesday, February 15, 2011]</b>
</p><p>“So, you mixed three powers at once?” Ethan’s fist moved towards me at glacial speed, and I had to remind myself to react just as slowly. Rather than ducking or dodging, I lifted my arms and tried to deflect, getting a nod from him. “Good, remember that it’s not all avoidance.”</p><p>“Thanks.” It was like Tai Chi, letting Carlos and Ethan iron out the major flaws in my movements, as well as letting us talk. “Yeah, all three people were in sync, I think Forrester said they used to play D&amp;D online or something. But I think all I really need is the focus to direct the blend-”</p><p>“Speaking of focus, rotate on the balls of your feet, not your heels.” Carlos tapped my calves with a wooden rod, and I flinched. We backed up a bit and repeated the move, going through it three times to be certain. “But you’re right. You said you blended Flechette and Bakuda-”</p><p>“Fuse.” I corrected, then jumped as the door slammed down the hall. I heard the heavy bolt fall into place, and wondered who it was. “Are we expecting someone? Ethan’s secret guest?”</p><p>“You guessed it! I figure if we make you tough enough, not just use Carlos’s power to erase your pain, we can speed up a bit. Hit harder.” Ethan bounced to his feet, quite literally, and crossed the training room as a woman entered. She was a few years younger than him, and shook his hand after pausing for a moment. “Ow! Did you use your power just to crush my hand?”</p><p>“Eh, I like to keep you on your toes.” She released Ethan, then peeked around him and waved at Carlos and I. Her hair was short and brown, and if it weren’t for her powers I’d never have known who she was. “This the kid you wanted me to meet? Hi there, I’m Alex, aka...”</p><p>“Battery.” Ethan cut in and waved Carlos over to stand beside him. “Now that you’ve got the basics, I wanted to start testing some blends, as you call them. Take a look at our powers.”</p><p>Taking a breath, I started to describe what I saw, despite some chuckles from Ethan as I told them how their powers appeared to me. It wasn’t like I could control how they looked!</p><p>
  <em>Ethan looks like a...waterfall. Not just the water flowing, but the slick stones in the water.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Carlos is still a Clay Ball, but he’s so spongy and flexible, why is that?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alex is a…</em>
</p><p>“Seriously? A super soaker?” Ethan fell to his knees, laughing as Alex turned red. “Hahaha!”</p><p>“Sorry, but that’s how it looks!” I waved my hands to ward her off, and started babbling. “I mean, there’s a reservoir, and every time you stop moving it starts pressurizing. Then when you move, you either dump it out harmlessly, or release a shot of water like when you crushed Ethan’s-”</p><p>“Fine, whatever. Just do your thing.” She waved a hand, and I sat down carefully. “Good luck.”</p><p>I took a deep breath, remembering what Carlos had taught me about meditation. Then I carefully reached out with three mental hands, touching each of them. Three powers…</p><p>
  <em>Clay Ball plus Reservoir Charge plus Water Falling...wow, I can feel the pressure build!</em>
</p><p>I tried to stand, but the pressure suddenly released and I went flying. I flung myself twenty feet into the wall in one leap! Despite cracking the wall and revealing metal behind it, I barely felt it. Ethan was at my side in an instant, picking me up, and pointed as the bruise on my arm faded.</p><p>“Check it out! Alex's power must be charging you up, but Carlos’ is using it to heal you.”</p><p>I felt the ground drop out from under me as I saw Celia’s beautiful artwork, ruined…</p><p>“Hey, she’d been meaning to repaint for a while anyway. Calm down, Greg.”</p><p>“Sorry, I just...” I felt the power growing again. “Crap, power’s building!”</p><p>“Eh, no biggie.” He held up a hand. “Try punching me.”</p><p>As much as we wrecked the room that day…</p><p>It was the most fun I’d had in weeks.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, February 18, 2011] </b>
</p><p>Friday’s combat lesson started with an argument.</p><p>Lisa had shown up out of nowhere just before we started, needing to talk to Brian. The two had gone into Ethan’s office talking about something involving a casino, and while we waited a conversation about fighting popped up. Not just the three of us either, but Allen as well.</p><p>We’d managed to get him out of the house, saying it had been too long since we’d all hung out. We were all going out to dinner after this, and in the meantime he admitted he was interested in how our training was going. He seemed distracted, but still joined the conversation. </p><p>Taylor had been talking about how some of her dad’s friends used to be boxers, and that they’d taught her that fighting was all about awareness of your opponent and strategy. Theo disagreed, saying that most of the fights he’d seen had been either people withstanding their foes or being strong enough to knock them down. I complained that both were impossible without the speed to dodge attacks, land a blow, and read your opponents moves. </p><p>So we turned to Allen. He’d been staring at his phone, but still pointed out to us that it sounded like we were arguing about a game of rock paper scissors. At that moment, Lisa reappeared and suggested that we have a three-person tournament to prove which was better. With Allen wandering off after his phone buzzed and our teacher grinning at the idea, the fight was on!</p><p>Now, as I watched Theo climb into the ring with Taylor, who had already soundly defeated me earlier with her battlefield awareness and tactics, I winced. Maybe we were still too early in our training to determine what made a good fighter? I glanced over at Lisa and saw her smirk at me.</p><p>Of course, just like last time, she’d probably put us in this situation so we’d figure it out on our own. That didn’t mean I couldn’t be annoyed at her though. I tried looking anywhere else, and spotted Allen at the back of the room, still pacing around and scrolling something on his phone.</p><p>He had claimed earlier that it was an email he’d been waiting for, but instead of decreasing his stress he looked more worried than ever. I needed more information...and that gave me an idea.</p><p>Pretending to stretch, I copied Lisa’s power and turned it on Allen, but it didn’t work. Worried I was using it wrong, I turned to look at a distracted Lisa, and instantly noticed her eyes on Taylor. The way her smile grew as Taylor looked at her, then how Taylor’s eyes lingered on Lisa’s-</p><p>
  <em> Oh crap, that’s not my business. Power off! Power off! Shit, Lisa’s coming this way! </em>
</p><p>Even as I pulled the power out of my core, Lisa was already grabbing my arm. She dragged me to the back corner of the gym, and threw a towel in my face before I could say a word.</p><p>“While I don’t approve of you spying like that, it’s not like Taylor is that good at hiding her feelings.” She rolled her eyes, waving at the girl in question as Theo went down to the mat again. “Still, I’d appreciate it if you kept that particular...detail to yourself for a while.”</p><p>“Of course! I’m really sorry, again.” I lowered my voice, leaning in slightly, my curiosity getting the better of me despite her words. “But, um...what’s the problem? I mean, you two obviously get along really well, and...wait, are you seeing someone already?”</p><p>“Nah, it’s something sappier. I’ve done a lot of...bad stuff in my life. You know what I mean.”</p><p>
  <em> I keep forgetting she’s on a team of supervillains. Not something you put on a dating profile. </em>
</p><p>“Anyway, I love spending time with Taylor, but it wouldn’t feel right pulling her any further into my world without her knowing both sides of me. Right now, she likes the Lisa who owns a dog shelter.” Lisa winced as we both saw Theo finally knock the girl in question down. “If she knew about the rest...I don’t know. I don’t want to hurt her by tricking her into anything.”</p><p>“So if she knew the truth and was okay with it...” It was selfish, but I couldn’t help the thought that this was similar to my own relationship woes. “Would that do it? Would you ask her out?”</p><p>“No, I think I’d still want her to ask me. I’m afraid that if I tried to ask, I’d be tempted to use my powers, and then I wouldn’t have earned it.” She sighed, and I saw her powers flickering as she glared at her feet. “It’s dumb. Usually my powers make me avoid people I like, showing me all their lies and secrets. But with Taylor, I find myself focusing on how tough she is, how she stayed good despite all the shit that happened to her, and...how she likes me, even though she knows about Rachel and suspects I’ve done bad stuff. But she never asks. It’s complicated.”</p><p>I nodded silently, unsure what I could say to that. I felt bad for dragging that out of her.</p><p>“So instead of talking about my crazy love life, let’s talk about yours.” I flinched, and she laughed as I stuttered. “Come on, you didn’t think I knew what you were up to? I’ve seen you staring at Allen almost as much as Taylor stares at me. What’s up?”</p><p>Hearing Lisa’s story made me realize this wasn’t just about Allen’s test, and halfway through talking about it I made a confession of my own. “I’m starting to think that maybe I don’t love Allen the way he loves me. But I’m afraid to tell him, especially with how stressed he is. But the longer I wait, the worse this gets, and...could you just look at me and tell me if I’m gay or-”</p><p>Lisa cut me off with a glare, and I realized I’d crossed a line. I apologized, and she sighed.</p><p>“Greg, it took me a long time to figure out what I wanted, with books and powers and humiliating experiences to guide me.” She shrugged, spreading her arms, then gestured at Allen. “But in the end, whether you’re Straight, Bi, Aromantic, or whatever...Allen’s still your friend. You’ve been so focused on yourself and how you feel...but what do you see when you look at him?”</p><p>I took a deep breath and turned to see Allen staring at us, a confused look on his face. But now that I looked closer, I could see that he wasn’t just confused. He was scared. Just like me.</p><p>I started walking towards Allen, and felt Lisa pat me on the back as I went. </p><p>***</p><p>“Hey.” I sat down next to Allen, and he looked up from his phone at me. “Sorry I’ve been spending so much time at the gym, acting like a kid with a new toy...hasn’t been that fair to you.”</p><p>“It’s okay. I’ve been preoccupied with some issues of my own.” For some reason, the way he said that seemed to bring a sour taste to his mouth. “I mean, my mind has been elsewhere.”</p><p>“I know something’s been bugging you for the last few weeks.” I turned to face Allen, and was relieved when he finally gave me his full attention. “I want to help, but I don’t know if...”</p><p>“It’s not something you need to worry about, Greg.” He stood, but I moved just as fast and held up a hand between him and the door. “Really, it’s no big deal. Not to you. I should go-”</p><p>“But it’s a big deal to you.” I started talking, the words just spilling out of me as I started to get louder and louder. “It’s a big deal to you, so it’s a big deal to me. I might not be able to help, but I want to try anyway! I care too much about you to just sit here and watch you suffer! Please!”</p><p>I ignored the way the others at the ring had gone silent. I ignored the way Lisa was probably smiling. I ignored the flush on my face as I realized everyone was probably watching us.</p><p>All I paid attention to was Allen, who finally sighed and turned his phone in my direction.</p><p>“I know that I am...different, from most children. I am more serious, have to try very hard not to focus on the most granular information, and speak very carefully. After reading many books and looking into my family history, I became convinced that I was schizophrenic.”</p><p>Allen stopped, and used his finger to scroll the text down to the bottom, past a lot of words that meant absolutely nothing to me. But the big red part that the bottom, I knew, was probably bad.</p><p>“Even though it has yet to fully manifest, this is my future. This worries me, because...I’m scared. I’m afraid that I’m going to wake up one day and be...different. I fear that I shouldn’t be around people, that I shouldn’t have friends, because I’m only going to...hurt them. Hurt you.”</p><p>“Allen, you could never hurt me, because all you’ve ever done is help me.” I put a hand on his shoulder and felt his muscles tremble under my hand. He let out a long breath, but I just kept talking and trying to project confidence. “You pushed skinheads aside to save my life. You testified for me. You hugged me, and stopped me from ruining my friendship with Theo. You didn’t get mad when I screwed up our date, and gave me time to figure myself out...”</p><p>I trailed off, and for a moment I wanted to just rip the bandaid off. To tell him I had fears as well, even if they were the kind that would affect our relationship. But what he needed right now was support, friendship, and kindness. I could talk to him about my own failures later on.</p><p>“Allen, you mean so much to me, and have been so patient..” I slid my hand down his arm and took his hand, holding it with both of mine. “I love spending time with you, whether these have been dates or just two friends. No matter what happens, you’ll always <em> always </em> be my friend.”</p><p>He smiled uncertainly at that, but it was enough right then. We weren't going to fix this here, but at least we could be there for him. All of us.</p><p>***</p><p>After that, Allen and I rejoined the others and we decided to end the lesson early. We went out to eat at a place Lisa recommended, just the four of us, and hung out at a private table.</p><p>We talked about Allen’s fears, and just like I’d assumed the other two were supportive. They even shared their own fears and failures, and Allen saw he wasn’t as different as he thought.</p><p>Taylor had been bullied for years and came out of it stronger thanks to her friends.</p><p>Theo had been terrorized by his dad, and now had friends to support him no matter what.</p><p>I had been a cowardly loner, but grew braver and stronger every day thanks to my friends.</p><p>Allen fit in perfectly with us, and we swore we’d stay by his side no matter what.</p><p>It wouldn’t solve all his problems in one night, but it was a start.</p><p>Together, we’d find a way to work it out.</p><p>*************</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: We’ve had romance, training, and friendship so far, and the arc is half over. Maybe an Interlude to check on a familiar face, before we get to the real action? This chapter was a physical training montage, so how about a mental one?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0047"><h2>47. Interlude 11: Stepping Out of My Own Shadow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I’m going to need a second form of ID.” The guard was implacable, staring between the card in his hands and the smiling face of the tall brunette leaning across his desk. Her build suggested some kind of acrobat, her smile suggested that she belonged </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> this asylum, and there was a typo on her driver’s license. “This is either a forgery or-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or my mom was on so many drugs after I was born that she misspelled my name.” Vera shook her head, chuckling despite Missy whispering at her to be serious. She dug three more cards from her wallet, all of them with the same name and picture. “See, M-I-N-V-E-R-A Oswald. It’s on my Lucky Rabbit Fanclub card, my credit card, and my-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy put her face in her hands. Vera had been an oddball since day one. She’d shown up out of nowhere days after Sophia was taken away, hanging off Hannah and getting glares from Piggot. Vera never seemed to frown, always had a kind word, and was strangely good at cheering people up. Then Hannah told her that the woman was going to be adopting Sophia...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that a certain Mouse-themed hero had appeared in Brockton Bay the same day Vera arrived. Missy had been let in on the woman’s secret identity, as had Sophia, and she was 100% on board with this. Honestly, Sophia couldn’t ask for a better foster mother...a friendly hero to help her learn what Jackie and Terry Hess had failed to teach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, she had a habit of rambling and annoying people, possibly a result of one of her grab-bag powers. Anyway, it was a good thing Sophia would be living with Vera </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> Hannah, or the Ward might have had a chance of picking up Vera’s more annoying habits. Case in point...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, do you really want to put up with her any longer than you have to?” Missy interrupted, ignoring Vera’s mock hurt expression and seeing the guard smirk. “I haven’t seen my best friend in weeks, please just let us in? It’s a long drive back, and...I really miss her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, the guard handed over the cards, pressed the green button, and let them both inside. On the other side of the door, after signing several papers and speaking to a familiar doctor, they reclaimed one of the best things (according to Missy) about Brockton Bay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, she couldn’t help but notice how different Sophia was, and wondered just what had happened to change her this much. As the three began the long drive back home, she was able to get a few details out of Sophia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a very happy story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sophia]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia’s normal wakeup routine used to be a series of stretches, followed by pushups, situps, a few dozen pullups (she’d installed a bar in her room), and then a run around the block. If it was raining or snowing, that was just an extra challenge. Like parkour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she woke up in the Asylum, she was annoyed to find that she didn’t have anything she could use as a pullup bar. The room only had a bed, a desk, a sink, a toilet, and a computer. Oh, also plenty of cameras and a window on the door. Ignoring them, she started her workout.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ceiling yelled at her before she even got a few minutes into this routine, telling her to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not that she was crazy or anything, even if she was in an Asylum, there was just a speaker up there. The voice sounded soft and nice, but it was telling her she was wrong and that meant it was yelling at her. Just like Mom, Terry, Piggot, and everyone else who hated her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She told it she had to stay fit, in case she needed to fight, then went back to her routine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A doctor came in, and introduced herself as Yamada. She asked questions whose answers made Sophia get confused, get scared, and get angry. Yamada kept writing things down, her pencil scratching endlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually she chased the woman off, and instead of feeling victory Sophia felt ashamed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt so tired, so empty, and so lost...all just from talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia soon realized she had no idea what day it was anymore, and asked for a calendar...or at least a clock. Yamada asked why she needed one, and Sophia explained that she had to hurry up and get better. She had to get back to Brockton Bay and stop Terry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yamada was very interested in that, but did her best to hide it. Sophia knew, though...because she’d seen that look in Terry’s eyes when he would catch her unaware during a spar. Then he’d hit her in a weak spot, and she’d learn to be stronger. She accidentally said that out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next thing she knew Yamada was grilling her about his training. How she got stronger, but only because she’d been weak. But Yamada went pale when Sophia talked about how Terry would sometimes punish her. Punishment she had deserved, for being weak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the doctor handed her a tissue, Sophia realized she was crying and didn’t know why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, she worked out extra hard, to remind herself she was strong.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia woke because her computer was chirping at her, courtesy of a chat program.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were messages, already pouring in from her fellow...inmates. The word stung her brain. She was a prisoner now. She had fallen, and was crazy, weak, idiotic, stupid…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia went back to bed, hiding her face in the pillow. She told herself they weren’t sad tears, they were just angry ones! Angry because she was hiding, like a coward, instead of pushing past the pain. Growling, she returned to the computer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All the messages were from anonymous usernames. For instance, Sophia was S2, another person was K2, and so on. They’d seen that she was new here and had been messaging her, wanting to talk to her for some reason. She read the messages, and her fingers twitched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia couldn’t remember the last time she’d talked to someone for fun. Was it Taylor, just before everything went to shit? Or Missy, the night before she lost her only friend? Or Emma, before the redhead started blackmailing her? Now she was here, alone...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even her family had abandoned her, and she began to weep. She heard Terry laughing at her, felt Mom slapping her, Terry growling at her to </span>
  <em>
    <span>get up</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Mom screaming and calling her a-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yamada came in, as if she could smell weakness, and stared at Sophia with eyes full of pity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She used to be motivated by pain, but now she was overwhelmed by it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So for once she let some of it out, and Yamada thanked her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She still had horrible nightmares that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Sophia woke up to chirping. Annoyed, she opened a chatroom with everyone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to tell them why she was someone they didn’t want to talk to, but they kept pulling her off track. She told them things about herself, making more and more typos as she typed faster. She could have left at any time, but she felt so defensive and angry. They wouldn’t stop!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At one point she mentioned she came from Brockton Bay, and suddenly a private chat opened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One inmate, S1, said that she had a friend in Brockton Bay, and started asking about Sophia. Before she knew it, she was talking about all the things she missed, bragging about her accomplishments to this stranger. Being at Winslow, being on the track team, being the star-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia stopped. She hadn’t run in days. She was expelled from Winslow. She was repeating the grade at Arcadia. They’d never let her join the track team, even if her community service wasn’t going to eat all her time. Running made her feel free, alive...and it was gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Yamada came in. Sophia talked about what she had lost, how she hated herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor didn’t ask questions, and actually smiled at Sophia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If anything, that made her feel worse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, there were no chirps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she went to her computer, Sophia tried to start another chat with S1, but got an error message. She tried some others, but they all gave her the same message. She posted in the public chat, but nobody replied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A popup told her that she had been blocked, but noted that blocks reset at midnight every night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t tell Yamada, because she didn’t want more pity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, there were no chirps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone had blocked her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the same the next day, and the next, and the next...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One night, Sophia didn’t sleep. She faked taking her pills, didn’t eat the obviously drugged food, and just sat there at her computer. She was waiting. She needed to know why.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At midnight, Sophia sent a message to everyone. She said she was sorry, that she didn’t know what she had done, and apologized. Then she waited, tapping her fingers as hours passed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody responded. She tried again, and saw they had all blocked her. Again!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia smashed her computer, screaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door burst open, and she saw an orderly step inside as if he’d been waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She threw the shards of her computer at him, already in motion. He covered his face, and by the time he recovered she had already passed through him. Sophia slammed the door behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Left was another orderly. Right was a long hallway. She went right, and turned left at the end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took her three turns to realize it was a big square. Worse, there were now a lot of orderlies, so she tried sticking her head through a door. Inside was a loud noise, ear-splitting, but no sign of what was causing it...just some guy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia tried another door, and inside was a squid monster curled around a pole. Before she had time to try another, she saw that there were orderlies coming at her from both sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She begged them to let her go, that she didn’t belong here, but they came closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pleaded with them, said she would go back to her room, but they came closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She said she was sorry, that being ignored had hurt so much, but they came closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia saw all the faces of all the other inmates, staring at her from their windows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were all against her. She was a failure. She had lost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone grabbed her from behind, wrapping something around her body. She tried to turn Shadow, but there were metal wires in it that stung her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia tried to scream, to bite, to thrash, but something went in her mouth and she felt a shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt like she was falling, and found her eyes drawn to one of the windows.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a face in it. No ears. No scalp. Little wires around it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a small letter C on its cheek, like a tattoo.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The face stared at her, crying black tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia slept.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Sophia woke up, she was tired. She was strapped to her bed. Yamada was there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her powers didn’t work. Her head hurt. Her whole body burned with shame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started crying, babbling, and didn’t know how to stop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yamada held her hand, and just listened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually they let her free, but she stayed in bed. She had lost, everyone hated her...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t want to talk, didn’t want to eat, and just lay there, like a weak loser.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then her new computer...chirped? Confused, Sophia approached.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> Not a lot of Winslow track stars who vanished recently. You kinda doxxed yourself, Sophia.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> I hate what you did. You’re a bully. You hurt people. Why did you do it?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Every time I trusted someone, they just used me. Then I wised up, but it was too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I’m sorry. I belong here, where I can’t hurt anyone ever again. Go back to ignoring me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started to get up, but the computer chirped at her again.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> One of the people you hurt is my friend. I wanted to punish you, we all did.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> We blocked you, so you’d know what it was like to be the loser. The one getting bullied.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> But I saw you in the hall. Heard you. We went too far. Seeing you suffer...hurt me. Sorry.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> It’s okay, I deserved it. I hurt a lot of people. I’m better off here. Leave me alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> No! Being alone sucks! I was alone, before my friend. I was just an ugly monster.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> I don’t know you, but I’m more of a monster than you could ever be. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> LOL. Okay, whatever track star. So anyway, I wanna give you another shot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia growled to herself, what the hell was with this guy? Why couldn’t they take a hint?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Stop it! You should hate me. I’m a bully, a jerk, a weakling, and a total f****** b****. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> Yeah, curse filter, sorry. You have to get more creative. I’m a 8@d@$$, I can teach you.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Why? I hurt your friend. I hurt a lot of people. You don’t have to pretend to be nice.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> My friend is kind of dumb sometimes, but he still tries to help people in trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> Even if they’re jerks, bullies, or monsters, he’s willing to try. He inspires me to be better.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> The things I did...how do I come back from that? I don’t get you. Why are you doing this?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> Maybe I’m just bored? Anyway, what are you into? Capes? Fanfic? Video games?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> ...I know a bit about capes and video games. What the hell is fanfic?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>S1:</b>
  <span> Oh, you sweet summer child...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia said she had no family, no friends, and everyone hated her for damn good reasons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>S1 said she had no memory, no family, and everyone looked at her like a monster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So the two of them talked, day after day, and began to bond. Capes, sports, favorite movies, books...they even wrote fanfic together, where Sophia was a real hero without a dark past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia talked to the other inmates, and began to understand that she wasn’t the only one with regrets. But most of all, that her past didn’t have to define her. She was in control, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Yamada said it was time for Sophia to leave, she was afraid it was too soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But someone assured her she was ready, and Sophia believed her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sveta was her friend, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Missy]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Hannah’s apartment was a nice little 3-bedroom, 2-bath affair with a decent garage, kitchen, and living room. After a brief tour from Vera, Sophia excused herself to explore. Missy was caught up in helping the older woman make a snack, but soon went looking for her friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t hard to find her, but Missy wasn’t sure what to say when she did. Sophia was sitting in the middle of her new room. It had a nice bed, a medium-sized closet, and a box. A dented box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jackie Hess had torn most of Sophia’s clothes, looked to have poured water on her books, and cut up several pictures to remove Jackie, Paula, and Terry from them. All Sophia had left were a few shirts, a worn pair of running shoes, and pictures of herself with other people ripped out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The whole time I was in the asylum, she never called me. Whenever I asked about her, the doctors just changed the subject. Guess now I know why.” Sophia whispered, as much to Missy as to herself. Sophia picked up one of the shoes, so old and worn. “She was so proud when she bought these, after I made the team. Now they’re all I have left of her. I ruined everything...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy wanted to tell Sophia that Jackie just needed time, but knew that was bullshit. This was the same person who tried to get Hannah to testify </span>
  <em>
    <span>against</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sophia in a civil suit a few weeks back. Jackie was stubborn, refusing to see that her son had been an abusive monster and that she’d been a terrible mother to a girl who desperately needed help. Missy hated her so much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forget about her, we’ll be your family.” Missy leaned in to hug the morose girl, hoping to cheer her up a little. “The people who care about you are your real family, not a pair of old shoes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vera slipped into the room and sat on Sophia’s other side, oddly silent. Her foster daughter seemed content to just stare at the shoe in her hands, squeezing it angrily. Missy could feel her muscles flexing, and wondered if she should suggest they go for a run or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wanna go fight?” Vera asked, drawing a look from both. “Always makes me feel better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sophia]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go left, I’ll go right.” Sophia called out, making hand signals that Missy nodded at before both started an obvious pincer maneuver. Vera adjusted her stance slightly, seeing both slow down for some reason. Grinning to herself, Sophia suddenly leapt into the air and shouted, “Now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vera adjusted her stance and grinned, acting as if she was going to catch Sophia. Given that she’d shifted to her shadow form and was now floating towards the independent hero, it would seem that this was little more than a distraction. But then Missy warped the air and...rolled?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia drifted right into Vera, covering her head with a miasma of shadow that made her sputter and stumble. The stumble turned into a trip as Missy rolled twenty feet in an instant to hit Vera’s legs, grappling them and making the older woman have to fight to stay upright. Then Sophia, who had spun around in midair, turned back to flesh and hooked an arm around Vera’s throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With one girl holding her legs and another (lightly) choking her, as well as wrapping her legs around Vera’s torso, Vera started to fall. It was only her powers and perfect perfect physique that kept her from toppling completely, and she gasped out, “I surrender. Lemme go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a moment, the pressure released and Missy rolled to her feet. With much less grace, Sophia fell off Vera’s back. She was the only one who was winded, gasping as she started to collapse. Vera spun and caught Sophia, slowly lowering her to the ground as Missy looked on in concern.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, I’m so weak.” Sophia grunted, body quivering despite her best efforts to hide it. Her fists clenched, and she looked down at them to avoid seeing the pity in Vera and Missy’s eyes. “Too much time talking about feelings instead of, what’s the word, maintaining my physique.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bah, I once broke both legs jumping off a roof. By the time I got the casts off, I looked like a skeleton.” Vera rubbed Sophia’s shoulders, smiling despite her charge’s mood. She rose to her feet and winked at Missy. “Even without a perfect physique, that was still a great tactic!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we practiced hand signs back in 2010, when Miss Militia used to have all the Wards train together.” Missy plopped down next to her friend, and eventually Sophia smiled a little. “Sophia’s shadow form is practically made for big jumps and confusing people. Hey, remember the time-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few more minutes of reminiscing, Vera got a call she had to take, and warned them not to fight while she was gone. Neither seemed to notice, caught up in an argument about which of the other Wards would win in a fight without powers, so she crept off. Sophia actually saw her go, but still didn’t know what to say to the older woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She seemed nice, but was still so...new. How could anyone be that happy, that nice to her?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vera had just waved a card at the PRT and gotten them to clear out the gym, saying that the three of them needed it for special training. All three were only wearing cloth masks, but that had been enough. Now they’d just spent the last hour sparring and talking tactics, and it felt…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It felt so fun. Good. Nice. Strange. Wrong. Safe? So many feelings, and they worried her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? You seriously think Chris would beat Dennis? Are we talking about the same Chris who built a hoverboard without actually learning to surf or skateboard first?” Sophia laughed, and Missy’s face went red as the older girl shoved her a little. “He’s weak, has no sense of tactics-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy tackled Sophia, and for a brief moment the former inmate was afraid she’d gone too far. But then she looked up and saw Missy giggling, and remembered. Missy had rushed to save her at Winslow, had tried to support her despite all her stupid choices, and stayed her friend despite everything. This wasn’t anger or fear, it was friendship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So with a grin on her face, Sophia ignored her fears and worries and the sound of Vera opening the door far behind her, and used her shadow form to slip backwards </span>
  <em>
    <span>through</span>
  </em>
  <span> Missy. In a moment she was behind the girl, grabbed her in a headlock with one arm and started tickling. Missy squealed and laughed, fighting to get free, and Sophia turned to look at Vera-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something that felt like a cannonball hit her in the side, and Sophia lost her grip on Missy. Even as the two broke apart, she could hear a pounding in her head and took another blow. Someone was shouting but all she could do was think about how scared and ashamed she was, so guilty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears came to her eyes and even as other emotions faded she still felt the shame. Three voices were arguing nearby, and all she could do was whimper on the ground like a baby. Like a victim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-wasn’t hurting me you idiot, we were just wrestling!” Missy nearly shrieked, and Sophia finally made it to her knees as a metallic clunk came from that direction. She looked up to see that Missy had just struck Gallant in the chest with the heel of one hand. “Just because you’ve been talking shit about her all month doesn’t mean you have the right to blast her with your fu-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whoa, hey, let’s take this down a notch.” Clockblocker stepped in and put a hand on Missy’s shoulder, pulling her back a little. Seeing both of them in costume provided a contrast, one that let Sophia see that Gallant’s armor was a dented and scratched mess. “We just came here to see if the rumors were true that Sophia was back, and Gallant jumped to the wrong conclusion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I walked in and saw Sophia choking Missy out, as she screamed for her to stop.” Gallant crossed his arms, scoffing at Clockblocker’s summary. He turned to look in the ex-Ward’s direction, practically snarling. “Did you forget she sent a kid to the hospital?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not how it went and you know it! Stop!” Missy started to reach for him, but backed off as Clockblocker held up a hand. “She’s had a rough day. Can you just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She deserves a rough day. She deserves a lot more, in fact.” Gallant flipped his face plate up, and now the sneer that had been in his voice was evident on his face. “Sophia didn’t just drop the ball, she spiked it into the ground and you almost fell in after her. If I were leader, I’d have ensured she never came back to Brockton-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, good thing you’re not the leader, then!” Missy started turning red again, then paled as someone else stepped up beside her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s right.” Sophia forced herself to look at Gallant, trying to catch his gaze, and he snapped his faceplate back down. This close she could see the damage to his armor, that it was mid-repair, and wondered what had happened. “I’m sorry. I messed up, and I’m trying to be better. I know I have a lot to make up for, but-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The armored boy spun without a word, going back out the door. Clockblocker stayed behind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. He’s still pissed because Miss Militia reamed both him and Aegis after they unloaded on you a few weeks ago.” Dennis sighed, crossing his arms. He pulled off his mask, looking a little older somehow, and smirked. “How strange is it that I’m suddenly the responsible one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse you, I seem to recall I was the one who actually forced Chariot and Kid Win to stop and eat last week, while you were egging them on to build a jetpack.” Missy seemed to take some delight in the redhead’s sudden coughing fit, and caught Sophia up. “Chariot’s a Tinker from out of town, came over for the weekend to help with a project. See, Uber and Leet left a bunch of their old tech to the PRT when they left town, and we’ve been shuttling it over from their old hideout to let other Tinkers learn from it, then taking it to a storage vault. Really crazy stuff-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A whole lot of video game stuff, for one thing. Also a bunch of movie props made real.” Dennis cut in, and for a minute Sophia felt like an outsider as they talked about all manner of cool gadgets they’d seen. “Like, yesterday a full set of Tinkertech armor that let the wearer turn invisible, had a bolt launcher in the arm, and strange dreadlocks coming out of the helmet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s part of why Gallant was kind of pissy today. During the transport last night he ran into some trouble, and got knocked around a bit.” Missy started to say more, but must have seen that the mention of the armored hero had killed the mood, because she stopped. “Anyway…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’d better go get changed, write my report, and all that jazz.” Dennis stepped closer to Sophia, holding out a hand, and seemed surprised when she took it without hesitation. She knew that she had a lot of trust to rebuild, and at the same time felt so tired. “Sophia, I’m sorry you had to go through that just now. He was way out of line.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, I deserve it. I screwed up. Everyone always said I was a screw-up, so I guess-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes people can surprise you.” Dennis stepped closer, putting his other arm around her and giving her a brief hug. Her jaw dropped as he added, “Like the way you faked Missy out so she wouldn’t have to see you leave. You’re better than you think, Soph. Welcome back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia was so shocked that she barely realized he’d left until he was already halfway to the door. She glanced down at Missy, saw her blushing, and got the smaller girl to admit that Dennis had been nicer since he’d heard what really happened at Winslow. More mature, even.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia found herself wanting to take the blame for that. Dennis had always struck her as a goofball, and here she’d made his childlike innocence flee in the face of her crime. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before she could say so, Vera came back and apologized for taking so long. Apparently Hannah had found out she was in the building, and needed to talk to them about something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment the door was shut and Hannah had taken her mask off, Sophia apologized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My reflexes are shot, I haven’t exercised in weeks...I can’t protect the city like this, much less myself.” Sophia glared at her arms, as if she could make them grow, but Hannah remained silent. “Why aren’t you more angry? I thought you brought me back to be a Ward?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I brought you back to let you continue to get better.” Hannah held up Vera’s phone, and Sophia saw pictures of herself. Talking to Missy in Vera’s car. Laughing at a joke. Sleeping alongside the smaller girl. Smiling, upon seeing her new home. “Seems to be working so far. Vera and I will care for you. Missy is your friend. As for protecting the city...that’s not your job, right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The terms of her probation were very specific. Before she could even be considered for Ward duties, Sophia had to spend at least a month attending regular therapy, doing community service, and proving that her bad habits were behind her. Until then, she was essentially a civilian, albeit one whose foster mother was an Independent hero from out of town. Also one who was chaperoned by someone PRT-approved 24/7. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Sophia brought up the elephant in the room. Terry. Her brother. Her...failure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doc Yamada told us that you were always asking about your brother. Before we tell you this, you need to know that the PRT, Protectorate, and BBPD are handling him. Got it?” Vera was unusually serious for once, and after a long moment Sophia nodded at her. She gently put an arm around Sophia. “Okay, so this is what we know about your...about Terry. Hannah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For the past month, the PRT has been investigating certain people and connections found in files that were recovered from Terry’s home. He was gathering information on local gangs, building dossiers on parahumans, and building a small mercenary company of his own.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia nodded, her stomach becoming an icy pit despite Vera whispering this wasn’t her fault.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Based on what was found in his files, Terry wormed his way into a small drug gang, then grabbed several of their people and split off on his own. Along with a parahuman capable of controlling trash, he has nearly twenty soldiers who have been flying under the radar.” Hannah brought up a video on her computer. “Until yesterday, that is...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The video was to be taken from a camera mounted on a PRT van, one that Hannah explained was transporting Tinkertech to a storage facility. A loud thump made the camera go wild.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Sophia realized the vehicle was rolling, it had come to a stop on its side. Stumbling and with a hand on his head, a dented Gallant emerged, but was immediately knocked down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The video continued as nearly a dozen people appeared, surrounding a strange monster. Its body was like a mix of garbage, metal chunks, and slimy fluids. The creature stomped on Gallant, then tore the van open and began to unload it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay down, boy.” A gravelly voice came from one of the criminals, as he put a foot on Gallant’s head and pointed a fancy-looking gun at him. “No need to die today. We’ll be out of your hair shortly. Maybe next time you’ll have actual warriors, instead of prey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The video froze, and Sophia turned. She’d have run out of the room to start tracking him down if not for Vera’s grip and Missy crashing into her stomach. Sophia felt lightheaded...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Hannah talked and Missy whispered and Vera hugged her, Sophia only heard one thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Terry’s voice, as he threatened Gallant, and nearly killed him because of her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because she’d been too weak to stop him on her own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Missy]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>A few pizzas, some schlocky action movies, and a foster mother who had no concept of bedtime worked wonders for helping Sophia relax that night. Missy had gotten permission to sleep over, and they did their best to have fun. All three dozed off in a pile of blankets on the floor...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Missy awoke to Sophia thrashing in a nightmare, Vera holding her and whispering to the crying teen. It wasn’t the first time that had happened, and it probably wouldn’t be the last.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next morning, as they were eating breakfast, Sophia seemed surprised that neither of them asked about her nightmares. She ended up telling them a little anyway, but when she trailed off they just changed the subject. The smile that spread on her face made Missy want to stay all day, but her phone’s alarm eventually made her leave. Today was a big day, after all...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A big day she’d completely forgotten about! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy raced into the Wards common room with minutes to spare, waving off Gallant’s lecture and rushing into a spare room to get changed. She was just putting on her visor and stepping up to stand beside Clockblocker when a loud </span>
  <em>
    <span>BEEP</span>
  </em>
  <span> drew her eyes to the timer above the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door soon slid open, revealing a very familiar face. Sure, it was behind a domino mask, and he looked a little bigger than he had a month ago, but that was definitely Steve...er, Greg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi.” He waved, stepping inside and looking around with wonder. The door shut behind him, startling the boy as he blushed. “Sorry, I’m kind of nervous about this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take your time.” Gallant crossed his arms, armor mostly repaired. “Maybe start with a name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Yeah, that makes sense. I’m G-” He cut himself off, coughing into his fist. “Sorry, I’m still getting used to it being </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> name. Let me try that again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set his shoulders, took a deep breath, and smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then their newest Ward introduced himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Find out why the name was chosen, why others didn’t make the cut, and then finally the name itself. Also some Wards, some fears, and some friends.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0048"><h2>48. 3.7: Learning Who I Want to Be</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Sunday, February 19, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Something I had learned back when I first got my powers was that any plan made in a vacuum was probably going to have flaws. It had nearly gotten me killed, jailed, and ruined a lot of my relationships. Before making any major plans for the future, it didn’t hurt to get a second opinion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sveta had helped me see that, so she was the first person I thought of when it came to making the perfect cape name. Plus, she had once said she had once told me that she had a whole bunch, back during the “fanfic.” What kind of friend would I be if I let them all go to waste?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thus, the day before my meeting with the PRT, I wrote down my favorites and then got online.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Wait, you want to know what? Names? I thought the Gregfic was over?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Yeah, but I have to admit that all those cape names you came up with had me wondering.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Eh...are you sure? Some of them are pretty dumb. I think I even used a few.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Used them? On what? Sveta, are you writing fics again? That’s great news!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Oh, stop. I made a new friend, and got her into capefic. I’m helping her write one!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>I told her about that Bat-guy comic from Earth Aleph, and she’s doing a self-insert.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>I’ll ask her next time she’s on, maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> can be </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> Pre-reader this time?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Sure, I look forward to ripping your work apart. In kindness, of course.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Of course. [eyeroll.gif] Anyway, over to those names...ready, Greg?</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Hit me!</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span> Kaleidoscope: He’s like a strange mirror of others. Also, the personality thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> True, but I’ll bet people would misspell the hell out of that. I mean, I know I do.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Inspiration: Same as before, he can use personalities to grow as a person.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> Probably shouldn’t advertise the fact that his brain changes when he uses powers.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Passion: Because all this started because of his passion to be better.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Me:</b>
  <span> That sounds more like the name of a porn star. Or a Master of some kind. Or both.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>GstringGirl: </b>
  <span>Hey, I did warn you that most of these were pretty dumb...anyway, next one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Sveta had finished, I moved on to my parents, who shot down the vast majority of the names. Almost an hour later, we were down to the last nine, and even those didn’t last long...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alloy is nice, since it has a strong meaning of combination, as well as a resistance to corrosion.” Mom shook her head, tearing the card in half. She threw it in the huge pile of names we’d already crossed off, including all the PRT suggestions. “But your powers have nothing to do with metal, and it’s another case of naming yourself after what your powers can do, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If that’s the case, then these can also go.” Dad piped up, fanning out the cards for Meld, Union, Compound, and Composite. “Also, can probably toss Fusion as well. Didn’t you used to watch an Earth Aleph cartoon once, where some glowing guys yelled that after a silly dance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I could correct Dad’s terminology, I noted that we only had three cards left. Then Mom picked up Unity and read off her phone that someone in Virginia had it. Two names left...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to say that Blend is a bad idea, but it’s another case of naming the power. Plus, I know you’re not a coffee fan.” Dad stood, stretching and grabbing the torn up cards to take to the trash. “Speaking of which, I’m getting another cup. Sandra?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fine.” Mom took a sip of her water, and I looked between my two choices. My phone buzzed and I snatched it up, but it was just a reminder to go to bed early. “Greg? You okay, sweetie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Maybe it was something in my tone, but Mom put her water down and gave me her full attention. I tried to distract her with a compliment. “Thanks for helping me with this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, Greg!” She gave me a wide smile, one Dad shared as he returned with a fresh cup of coffee. Her smile started to fade, and she asked, “Do you want to talk some more about-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve already helped me so much this weekend. I mean, your advice is usually so good, and you guys have told me a lot of stories over the years, some less believable than others…” I felt bad for talking over her, but I’d spent all last night crying, and didn’t want a repeat performance. Taking one of Dad’s tactics, I tried to distract her with a bit of teasing. “Like Mom’s claim that she keeps randomly running into Alexandria every few years at libraries, parks, and grocery stores.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hand to God, I saw her at the Shop-mart a few months back, buying Frooty-Toots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, right…” All three of us laughed, and then Mom reached out and took my hand. Her expression was the same one she’d worn last night, and I finally sighed. “It’s okay, Mom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, I’m not going to push you, but we’re here if you want to talk more.” Mom’s gaze was one I was hesitant to meet, especially after she added, “You have nothing to be ashamed of.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t I, though?” I pulled out my phone and checked. Still no replies. “I should’ve been braver.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, maybe that’s your answer then?” Dad swiftly changed the subject, drawing a look from Mom. He held up the other card, smiling at me. “The story behind this one, wasn’t it about you being afraid, and finding the courage to be honest with yourself and others?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I guess.” I took the card, brightening as I remembered that day. “It was inspiring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did that go again?” Mom saw what Dad was doing, and pretended that I hadn’t told the story a dozen times. “About wanting to be braver, more honest, and to learn from your friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it was about a month ago…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Monday, February 21, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“...back when I was doing power testing. I was scared. Test anxiety, fear of failure, the whole deal.” I stood nervously in front of the PRT’s Image department, trying not to think about the fact that Glenn Chambers (Head of Image) was on the other side of the video teleconference they’d set up. “I got changed, came out of my room, and practically ran into one of the researchers, Frank. He had some good advice for me, and it really stuck with me…”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“But you know, just because I can’t help you is no reason to give up.” His eyes twinkled, and Frank tilted his head. “This facility is full of scientists, heroes, and teens, including the ones you arrived with. Why not ask them? After all, we’re all human at our cores. We’re all just people.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“-and I guess I figured that he was right. I talked to a lot of people that day, and they all gave me good advice. By the end of the day, I felt like I had succeeded. All thanks to what I took from others, and made a part of me.” I started writing a word on the whiteboard, large enough that they could see it from anywhere in the room. “So I want this to be my name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I’ll entertain this for a moment, even if it is simple.” Glenn still sounded unsure, and I didn’t blame him. “It’s a nice change of pace from flashy ideas and powerful forces, but I still need you to sell it to me. So, if a reporter asks you what it means, what will you say? Go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took a deep breath, trying not to think about the adults and all their experience, and instead focusing on my name. On what it meant to me, and how I wanted to spread it to the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What Frank said was right. Parahuman or not, when you peel away our costumes and powers we’re just people. We all have motivations, goals, and passions...but by placing another cape’s power in my core I can learn from their insight and understand them better.” I smiled, trying to project confidence. “I hope that someday, any team I’m on can see me as being there for them. That they know I’ll support them, because I understand they’re just like me...no matter the power or the person. Because when you get right down to it, we’re all human at our cores.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh. That’s quite a speech, kid. Not the sort of thing I usually hear. ” Glenn’s voice sounded different, and I heard him scratching something on paper for a few seconds. “Fine, I guess you’ve convinced me. If nothing else, at least you’re good at thinking on your feet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glenn continued to talk, assigning some people to making costume prototypes and others to getting me scheduled for fittings. That’s where I was headed next, since they needed to have my costume done by the end of the week. Soon the only people left in the room were a blonde woman and I, along with the voice of Glenn Chambers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must have seen on camera how nervous I was getting about everything going on around me, and that had only spiked when he mentioned my debut in...six days. After introducing the blonde as Helen, my personal PR rep, he put my mind at ease about the debut. For one thing, it was less of a debut and more of an interview. That confused me, so I asked why. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, for one thing, we know that you’re seeing a therapist for anxiety and panic attacks.” Helen was writing on a stack of 3x5 cards, switching between different colored highlighters. “Throwing you to the wolves, in public, with hundreds of people watching...seems like a recipe for disaster.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So instead, it’ll be an in-person interview on Channel 12, with a few dozen people in the live studio audience. Pre-recorded, even.” Glenn sounded particularly proud of that, and I had to admit that I felt a lot better. Well, up until Helen handed me a ticket voucher. “Your parents already know that they shouldn’t show up, but if you have a girlfriend or boyfriend…” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” My voice sounded a little choked, and I quickly asked. “Won’t people say it’s staged?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think anyone aside from trolls and idiots are going to get on you for admitting you’re not perfect?” Glenn sounded almost insulted, and Helen gave me a gentle smile. “Didn’t you once tell us that before you were a cape you always identified better with people who were honest about their problems and mistakes? A lot more people feel that way that you know, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, with that in mind I’ve prepared a series of cards for you to look over. Here you go.” Helen handed me the cards, and waited patiently while I read over them. Each had a few sentences, put together from my own discussions with the PRT. “The parts in green are safe to expand on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m guessing the parts in red are things I should stay away from?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. For instance, saying ‘I can see powers in parahumans even when they’re not in costume’ is a big no-no.” Helen reached over and tapped the card I was reading at the moment. “Instead, you’re going to say that you can only comprehend the powers of people who trust you. The more they trust you, the more you can copy, and even then it takes real effort.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The PRT had stressed that with me in all of our meetings, and at this point it felt burned into my skull. The idea was that as I got to know more heroes and assist other teams, I’d get more powerful and versatile. I may have been new, but I had a lot of room to grow as a hero.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, February 25, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Time had passed so quickly, and even with advice from Image, my parents, George, and Larry, I was still worried about this. I’d left school at noon for an “appointment,” changed in the PRT’s locker room, and now stood in front of a very shiny door with a timer above it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wonder if they make the door shiny so people can admire themselves in their cool costumes?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, the costume had been the most interesting part of the last week, and had helped take my mind off what happened over the weekend. It was hard to be worried about terrible mistakes you’d made in the past when working with Glenn. This costume was my future, and I loved it!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heavy armor was out, as the bone growths I’d gotten from Velocity’s power had exploded my shoes. What I needed was flexibility, since I could copy and blend a lot of powers. At the same time, without other capes I was just an ordinary kid, and needed protection from bullets, knives, and fireballs. I needed a costume that provided armor without stifling me and gave me style without making me a target.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glenn knew a lot about costumes, and had been happy to give me a lecture on the complex and interesting world of colors, styles, and what they represented. Despite coming off kind of gruff at first, he had a real passion for heroes and cape culture, and I could see why he was the boss. This costume, </span>
  <em>
    <span>my costume</span>
  </em>
  <span>, was like a dream come true, and I was proud to wear it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It started off with a blue bodysuit, one that was streaked with a green similar to Eidolon’s (Glenn called it Viridian). It was stretchy, breathable despite having some kind of padding, and had heavy gloves built into it. The mask covered everything but my mouth and chin, with reflective goggles and an earpiece in it, as well as a microphone at my jawline.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My feet felt snug and secure in some light boots built into the suit, with light armor throughout and a utility belt that could hold anything from medical supplies to small tools. For protection from both cold and weapons, we decided on a heavy jacket that matched Assault’s shade of red. It was like an armor-plated motorcycle jacket, and even zipped I could move easily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then a buzzer went off, the door opened, and I ran out of time to worry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hoping I didn’t make a fool of myself, I entered. There was a table with drinks, food, and plates. But despite the knowledge that all this had been set up for me, I was still filled with anxiety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing in front of me, as if they were posing for a picture, were Aegis, Vista, Clockblocker, Gallant, and Kid Win. All of them were in full costume, and they were looking right at me. After stumbling and nearly unmasking myself, I coughed and tried again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I set my shoulders, took a deep breath, and held out my hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, I’m Core. Thanks for having me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello Core.” Aegis stepped forward, taking my hand and shaking it. Even though I knew he was Carlos, the guy who had taught me Yoga, I felt like I was meeting someone entirely different. “Welcome to the team. When are you going to be going active?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They...um...told me that it’ll be the day after my interview on Channel 12, tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great. The sooner we have more help, the better.” Vista stepped forward, holding out a hand. Even with my recent workouts, she still had a hellishly strong grip. “Nice to have you, Core.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow...I mean, thanks. Glad to be here.” I flexed my hand as she let it go, and turned to the next person in line as he approached...Clockblocker. “I’ve been told to keep an eye on your hands.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s probably smart advice.” He laughed, giving me an air-high five, “I’ll get you next time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clockblocker!” Gallant approached, shaking my hand with an oddly light grip. “Ignore him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...I like your symbol. It fits the name.” Kid Win shook my hand, and I couldn’t help but beam with pride. On both my belt buckle and over my heart, there was a sphere that had been cut into segments, radiating out from a smaller core inside it. Like the planet, like a team, and like a person, it was a core. “So I hear you’re a power-copier? How’s that work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We retreated to the couches, and I gave them a brief rundown of my power, admitting that I’d been advised not to make any new blends without adult supervision. It was annoying, but what I’d done to myself with Aegis and Gallant’s powers way back when had been a literal nightmare. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time I was done, they were just about to cut the cake, but I knew that in order to eat it several would have to unmask. Thinking about that power combo had reminded me of something else, and how I’d acted the last time I was here without a mask. “I need to apologize for something. Last time I was here, on a Wards tour...I was an asshole to several of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not the first person to be a jerk, Core. I mean, we put up with Shadow Stalker-” Gallant stopped talking, and judging by Vista’s hand squeezing the couch beside me, he probably saw her anger with his powers. “Anyway, it’s no big deal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a big deal to me. I was nervous, I got scared, and I...used my powers to try and help myself feel better. After I hid in the bathroom, of course.” I put my hand on my mask, already feeling like this had been a mistake, but unable to stop myself. Keeping my fears to myself had already ruined one relationship, I didn’t need it to ruin another. “I just want to say that I’m sorry. I’m a lot better at controlling my powers now, but that still doesn’t excuse me. I hope you can forgive-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Core?” Aegis’ voice interrupted me, sounding less muffled than before. I looked up to see he had taken his mask off. In fact, I was the only one still wearing a mask! Aegis...no, Carlos, smiled at me. “Like I said before, welcome to the team. I’m Carlos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smiled at my new team, and they went around the room introducing themselves. I had to do a double take when it turned out that Misty was actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>Missy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Finally, it was my turn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My name is Greg.” My mask came off, pulled back like a hood. “Thanks for...accepting me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then we had cake, and talked about nothing in particular. Not powers. Just...stuff.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t perfect by any means. Dean kept badmouthing Shadow Stalker and Missy kept glaring at him. Chris was shying away from them and whispering with Dennis, who looked annoyed at the pair. Carlos just watched, as if afraid to call them out while I was here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I still felt great, because this was my team.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was practically walking on air after that, and had to check to make sure I hadn’t nabbed Aegis’ power by mistake. No, I was just really happy, and was looking forward to seeing them again. My life was about to change in a big way, and thanks to Larry and Hobson I was actually ready.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d been afraid it would confuse them when I suddenly switched to half-days at Arcadia, went on patrols with the Wards, trained with heroes, and maybe fought criminals. So Larry had worked out a great cover story with me, hiring me on as his part-time assistant. Not only was it an excuse to be unavailable, but it gave me a reason I couldn’t talk about my work or get visitors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could have just texted them, but school had just let out and I wanted to tell them in person. Taylor was headed to work, so I started with Theo. He was already done with his workout when I got there, so we just hung out while he stretched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Working for your therapist? Congrats! Guess I’m not the only one making a change.” He took a drink from his water bottle, smiling at me and gesturing at Brian, up at the front of the gym. “Brian’s tutoring got me up to speed, so now I’m going to be joining his tutor team. He said that I was ‘barely good enough,’ and one of his other teammates stopped growling at me all the time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had to laugh at that, thinking about the time that Rachel had growled at me back around Christmas. I wondered if Brian’s team was anything like-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stopped, and was glad I was turned away from Theo as it hit me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Brian has smoky powers, and knows both Lisa and Rachel. He’s an Undersider. Is Theo…?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Months ago I might have run to the PRT. Brian was working in a gym, had recruited my friend to join his gang of villains, and who knew what they were making him do? I heard Brian’s voice... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was talking to his mother near the entrance, Aisha laughing as the siblings badgered Celia. They were saying something about an art gallery, and she kept shaking her head. Eventually she left, but only after taking a flier from them and yelling that they owed her for trying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I glanced at Theo. He was stronger, more confident, and maybe a villain, sure...but maybe it wasn’t as black and white as that. If Brian had been one of the reasons he was better, then maybe...he wasn’t so bad? He was just another guy with a family, like me and everyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crap, I lost track of time, need to get going.” Theo said, capping his water “See you next time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, I look forward to it.” I waved at the newest member of the least evil team of villains in town. Would I have to fight him someday? “Catch you later, Theo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just prayed there’d never be double meaning in my statement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All week long, Taylor had been extra nice to me, especially after what happened on Saturday. She didn’t judge me for what I’d said, didn’t call me an idiot, and was great at changing the subject just in time. When I said I had some good news for her, she insisted I come over and watch a movie to celebrate. I felt like I owed her, and besides...her voice sounded kind of off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon we were eating Greek food and watching a monster movie, her dog snoozing at our feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, why are these campers so stupid?” Taylor shook her pita wrap at the screen, as we watched a pair of teenagers get PG-13 naked and have PG-13 sex. Before they could do more than kiss, they got torn in half by Jackson Borhees, the mystical murderer in the football helmet. “Also, how do they not hear this guy coming? Does he have some kind of Stranger power?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think the implication is that they’re so caught up in having sex that they don’t notice him, like the football camp counselors who didn’t hear him screaming for help when he got stuck under the bleachers at the start of the movie.” I explained, then paused and added, “...or maybe he’s a Mover and teleports? That explains how he can walk so slow and still keep up with them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The movie soon reached its obvious conclusion, with Jackson being killed by a cheerleader. As the credits rolled, we turned to smalltalk, but it was only a matter of time before one of us slipped up. Finally, she blurted out something that it seemed she’d been chewing on all week.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, the whole thing’s my fault anyway.” She lifted a hand, stopping me before I could disagree. “I’m the one who set you guys up, based on Mom’s books. This is half on me, I gave you bad advice and pushed you two together. I kept telling you to take your time, and...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it was. The fact I’d been avoiding all week, doing everything I could to stay distracted. The day after our big moment in the gym, when I’d declared myself his eternal friend... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Allen had dumped me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, I panicked. I babbled. I said some dumb things. Now Allen wasn’t talking to me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To be fair, it was the nicest dumping ever.” The words still felt a bit raw in my throat, but it hurt less to talk about than last time. “He very calmly explained that with his test results, new therapist, new medication, joining the baseball team, and so many other things, a relationship wasn’t a good idea right now. Besides, he was right that I wasn’t ready. Every time he tried to kiss me or talk about feelings or stuff, I’d change the subject. I was just too afraid to admit it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d wanted to be angry at the time, but now I just felt stupid. It had taken weeks, but I’d finally realized that I just didn’t feel the same way about Allen that he did about me. I kept assuming based on movies and comics that I’d suddenly want to do things with him like kiss or...other stuff, but it just never happened. So I just kept waiting and delaying, and now...it was over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If he’s so nice, then why hasn’t he talked to you since Saturday? I know you panicked a bit and said some dumb stuff, but when </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> you panic and say dumb shit?” Taylor cut herself off and slapped her forehead, then slumped and sighed loudly. “Sorry, it’s been a crappy day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, you helped with my crappy week, so...wanna talk about it?” She didn’t respond, and began to hunch in on herself. I waved a hand. “Never mind. Anyway, I have this part-time-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got dumped today.” Taylor cut me off, her voice catching. “Also, maybe fired.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How the...how did that happen? You kick ass at that job, and you weren’t dating anyone!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After what happened with you and Allen, I started to wonder what else I was wrong about. I mean, I just read some books and assumed I was an expert, like an idiot.” Taylor scoffed, crossing her arms and refusing to look at me. “There was someone I thought I was attracted to. Someone I thought was interested in me. But I wanted to be sure, and she’s smart as hell, so...I asked at work today. Babbled for a few minutes, then finally asked her to be honest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, and what did she say?” Assuming this was Lisa, she was smart enough to calmly-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She was honest. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Brutally</span>
  </em>
  <span> honest.” Taylor sniffled, then waved me off as she pulled out a tissue and started to fold it. “Practically psychoanalyzed me. Said my ‘long period of bullying and rejection had made me latch onto her kindness, and that this was more infatuation than actual attraction.’ She just kept going on and on, cutting me off, talking about my age, Dad, Emma...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dog Emma must have noticed her human’s voice trailing off, because she stood suddenly. Nosing Taylor’s hand, she hopped up on the couch and let out a little whine. A hand rubbed the dog’s back, but its owner still looked worried. How had I missed this? What could I say?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyway, we started arguing, and I just unloaded. Called her a bitch, shoved her when she tried to stop me from leaving, and she just...she told me to get the hell out!” Taylor sobbed, burying her face in Emma’s fur. “God, I’m such an idiot. I ruined everything! I should’ve stayed quiet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you shouldn’t have.” I slid closer, squeezing her shoulder, hoping I wasn’t overstepping. She looked up at me, but didn’t pull away...or sic Emma on me. “The reason my relationship with Allen failed was because I stayed quiet. Instead of telling him things weren’t working, I kept waiting for them to get better. But you? You were brave, and I’m sure Lisa doesn’t hate you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I called her a bitch! She deserved it, but what the hell!? Why did she just snap like that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I knew how hard it was for Lisa to control her power, remembering how it erased my memory when I had it. Maybe she had panicked, like I did with Allen a few days ago? But even then, I couldn’t say any of that to Taylor, not without doing more harm. She’d hinted once at how she was after Emma had betrayed her, over a year ago...I hoped this wouldn’t go that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor wrapped her arms around Emma again, mumbling into the dog. I shifted, feeling something sharp dig into my side from inside my pocket. An idea hit me, a long shot...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...how about...here!” I reached into my pocket and pulled out the voucher Helen had given me. Seeing Taylor like this was painful, especially after she’d been there for me all week. I started to babble. “I started working part-time for my therapist, and he does some work with the PRT, so he got this for me. But I think you could use it more...and I’m busy that day. So...here!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor wiped her face with one hand and took the voucher with the other. I could see her eyes moving over it, and then her eyes bugged out so much I thought they’d knock her glasses off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she looked back and forth between the voucher and my face, like it was an illusion, I felt a surge of panic go through me. Taylor was smart, and if she was in the front row there was no way she wouldn’t recognize my voice tomorrow. Had I just unmasked myself? Shit!  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, thank you!” She lunged forward, dislodging her dog and grabbing me in a hug that nearly took both of us off the couch. I let out a little gasp, my ribs creaking as she squeezed me, and then froze as I realized she was shaking a little. “Thanks for trying. I feel...less like shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to cheer you up.” It sounded dumb, but as I put my arms around her I could feel my fears fade a little bit. </span>
  <span>Soon she was filling me in on all the rumors about the latest Ward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things still sucked, for both of us, but maybe this would make them a little better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*********************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Things get pretty crazy from here on out, so let’s have a quick Kalpin and Hobson interlude! Tune in for imagination, excitement, and adventure!</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0049"><h2>49. Interlude 12: The Days are Just Packed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: Figured I’d post this early, since the end is in sight. It has a few hints of what’s to come, but mostly it’s an interlude about two characters I deeply enjoyed. Since Kalpin and Hobson are adult Calvin and Hobbes expies, I had fun writing this in a...unique way. Hope you enjoy it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Interlude 12: The Days Are Just Packed  </b>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“All right, all right, I’m going!” Spacemaster Spiff growled at the hulking space squids who directed him towards their gross leader. He might have been lacking his Death Ray Zorcher, but even his wits were enough to keep them at bay. “Your queen doesn’t scare me one bit!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Haw haw, you say that now, Spiff...but Queen Worm isn’t known for her kindness.” One of the Zogwargs laughed, acidic spittle narrowly missing him. It wrenched open the rusted gate leading to the torture chamber and motioned for him to enter. “Your gruesome fate awaits!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hopelessly outnumbered, Spiff had no choice but to enter the darkened room, and stood at the ready in front of the vast console. Numerous implements designed to elicit pain and information from victims lay across its surface, but Spiff was unbowed. He didn’t even flinch as the door slammed behind him, leaving him alone with the brutal being who called this room their home.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A chair behind the console slowly rotated, revealing the grim visage of Queen Worm, a foe that had tried and failed to make Spiff talk on more than one occasion. He just grimaced at her, smiling inwardly as he saw the vein on her forehead pulse.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” Spiff drawled, carefully reaching behind his back for the Holdout Atom Blaster he’d stashed in his briefs. “Miss my winning personality?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Certainly, the aliens had taken the Death Ray Zorcher from his hands and the Atomic Napalm Neutralizer from his ankle holster. As they’d started to pat him down though, he had made an off-color joke about being ‘debriefed’ and both had gotten into a fight. Such fragile masculinity in these aliens, really a shame. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Regardless, it meant they’d missed the tiny weapon hidden in the band of his space pants, one that was warming up even now. He gently spun its dial from ‘Medium-well’ to ‘Frappe,’ and tried not to let his confidence show on his face. All he needed were a few more seconds…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Time was not on his side though, as the Zogwarg Queen leapt across the console and grabbed the Spacemaster in her slimy tentacles. She began to shake him, roaring loudly.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Kalpin! Wake up!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kalpin!” Hobson shook his partner again, annoyed at the short blond’s propensity for dozing off when given half a chance. Both had been up all night, Hobson reading files and Kalpin cleaning up a video they’d recovered. Already Hobson was on his second cup of coffee, and Kalpin was out like a light. Luckily, his partner began to wake up at last. “Come on!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No...not the Zogwargian rocket scooters...I left my emergency jetpack at home…” Kalpin muttered, slowly coming back to the real world. He blinked slowly, saw Hobson standing over him, and had the good sense to look embarrassed. “Oh, hey buddy, sorry about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not an issue, given that we got here before everyone else, but maybe some breakfast would perk you up?” Hobson gestured at the small basket of mixed fruits and cereal bars Deacon seemed to send them every week, getting a face from Kalpin. “Or I guess there’s cereal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you’re talkin’ my language!” Kalpin was suddenly wide awake, and within moments was eating handfuls of Chocolate Frosted Honey Bombs that Hobson kept stocked in a filing cabinet. “You always know just what I need, pal. Thanks for havin’ my back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem, Kalpin.” Hobson chuckled at his long-time friend’s expression, choosing not to point out that the other man’s teeth had already turned brown. Instead he simply sat back down at his desk and looked over some paperwork he’d been working on. Both had arrived early to get first crack at the patrol cars, since they’d been looking forward to going on patrol for-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kalpin! Hobson!” A voice both had learned to dread startled the two of them, papers and cereal going flying, and they turned to see a hulking figure stomping past. Before either could ask for clarification or apologize for their mess, orders were being barked. “My office! Now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both looked at each other, looked down at the papers and diabetes-causing (according to several lawsuits) cereal littering the floor, and shrugged. Where most would have been shaking in fear having Chief Wormwood shout at them, for Kalpin and Hobson it was just Tuesday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A dozen other PRT agents and officers all watched them go with a mix of disapproval and relief. Everyone knew that the pair had the highest amount of complaints...as well as the most closed cases. A few people passed money between themselves, and one even erased the number ‘4’ from a nearby whiteboard and replaced it with a ‘0.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Close the door!” Were the first words they heard as they entered the darkened office, and only after complying did Wormwood flick on her lights and send her patented armor-piercing glare at Hobson. She’d long since learned that Kalpin was either too stupid or too happy to be affected by it. “What the hell do you two have to say for yourselves? Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to be called out by Deputy Director Renick for the stunt you pulled?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In our defense, despite originally being a loud asshole, Deacon has really proved himself.” Kalpin started to explain, ignoring the way his partner was poking him. “I mean, sure we had to threaten one guy’s butler, but butlers are always committing crimes according to TV! I’m sure we prevented a dozen more crimes, and now we’ve got a burly dude who owes us his life for-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t about that.” Wormwood cut him off, and if Kalpin were smart he’d have quit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then I guess this is about the thing with the confoam. I keep telling Supply that they need to put stronger springs on them, because I can’t help that my grip makes a little squirt every time I pick one up. It’s not like it doesn’t wash off-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This also isn’t about that.” Wormwood cut Kalpin off again, this time continuing before he could dig himself any deeper. “This is about you and Velocity. You’ve been spreading rumors about him, and I haven’t had Director Piggot yell at me so loud since that thing with the noodles-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ma’am, may I remind you that ‘The Noodle Incident’ has been sealed by Chief Costa-Brown, and cannot be spoken of without a court order.” Hobson spoke over Wormwood, drawing a glare from the older woman. Kalpin started muttering about his explanation being ‘the unvarnished truth,’ but quieted after Hobson elbowed him. The tall man tried to smooth things out, “But at the same time, our animosity with Velocity is actually quite simple. It has to do with our respective-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have time for another crazy story about ‘Easy-going Professionalism,’ or whatever tale you two want to spin today.” Wormwood lifted a thick folder from her desk and dropped it for emphasis, a loud thud echoing through the office. “This is a list of complaints and issues the Legal Department just sent over regarding the two of you. This is just a few years’ worth!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, is that so?” Kalpin’s eyes focused on the folder, seeing the name on the cover. His smile faded, and his voice lowered. “Have to admit, I’m surprised. Can’t believe that she-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Normally I would just suspend you idiots, but as cliché as it is I have to admit you get results.” Wormwood steepled her fingers, barely hiding the smile on her elderly face. “So after talking with Armsmaster and a special consultant, I think I have the perfect solution to this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Kalpin wished he’d stayed at his desk , fast asleep in an exciting dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because as Wormwood explained their horrific punishment...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realized he was trapped in a nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Name’s Hiram, Hiram Caliber. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Some folks call me Hi. Others call me to look into people. Still more call me things that ain’t fit for the mouths of children. I’ve got a lot of names, but I’ve earned all of ‘em.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Got an office on 33rd street, a bad relationship with my landlord, and a great relationship with my bartender. He’s one of the two reasons I’m always loaded, and the other reason’s in my shoulder holster. One slug in my flask, and six in my revolver, and I’m ready for anything.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You Caliber?” Said a voice like liquid velvet, and I looked up from the face of my old pal Jack Daniels to see a dame waltzing into my office. She had a figure that told me she was no stranger to running, clothes that told me she could afford my fifty dollars a day (plus expenses), and eyes that told me to stop narrating and get to it. “Heard you were a private eye.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, I’m a professional snoop. You got someone you need found, or something lost?” I stood, pulling my trench coat off my chair and throwing it over my shoulders. It covered up the rumpled clothes of a man whose only true love was a good night’s sleep. I’d been single for a long time, in that regard, but that didn’t mean I’d stopped looking. “What’s your deal, toots?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Need some help finding something.” She looked away, cheekbones so sharp you could cut yourself, and took in my mess of an office. A hundred cold cases spread across the floor and walls, people whose families had never been given closure, all more important than my sad-sack life. She smiled, motioning for me to follow. “Come on, I’ll take you where I last saw it.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A smart man would’ve let her just walk away, knowing something was up. But I’ve never claimed to be a smart man…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A few minutes later, I realized we were in a dark alley that just screamed ‘ambush’ and decided to head things off before they went from worse to even worse. I reached for my oldest friend, my .38, and maneuvered myself between her and the exit.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m sorry,” she said, and if I’d had a heart left her tone might’ve broken it. But I’d already lost everything that mattered to me a long time ago. She turned her honey-smooth words to my ego, and started to explain, “I wasn’t trying to get you and Hobson in trouble, it was my boss...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...he waited until I was out sick, and then snatched it off my desk.” Suzanne sighed, shaking her head and leaning against the shelving. So loaded with boxes and files, it didn’t even quiver as her slender frame slumped against it. She put a hand to her forehead, rubbing at a temple. “I only just found out, and rushed in to work to try and warn you...but I was too late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but why were you even collecting all that anyway?” Kalpin tried not to sound accusatory, but it was hard when those same reports had just been used to blindside Hobson and him mere minutes earlier. “I mean, I know we bend a few rules sometimes, but you really went deep on us. There was stuff in there from back when we had just joined!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two had come out of Wormwood’s office and found Suzanne sitting at Kalpin's desk. He’d wanted to tell her off, but she had just grabbed his arm and dragged him into the empty file room. The heavy door had closed behind them, and even though they were alone she still pulled him to the far end of the narrow corridor created by two high shelves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know!” She held up both hands, surrendering to his annoyance and even sharing it. “My boss needed something to show that he deserved a bonus, so he grabbed the half-finished report I was working on and pretended it was a complaint. In fact, it was the exact opposite!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them couldn’t have been more different. Kalpin was short, muscular, and looked like he hadn’t pressed his suit in weeks, his messy blond hair and slouched frame making him appear constantly disheveled. Suzanne was almost as tall as Hobson, narrow, and wearing a pressed pantsuit, her hair neatly styled and her posture the picture of professionalism. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started to say more, but sniffled. Kalpin flinched, worried that he’d gone too far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you…” Kalpin trailed off, then winced as Suzanne pulled a tissue out of one pocket and blew her nose wetly. “Oh damn...are you still sick?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I tried to call you, but you seem to have forgotten to charge your phone again.” Even in the dim light, he could see that her eyes were red, her face blotchy, and her nose raw. “By the time I got here, Wormwood was already chewing you guys out. I just...didn’t want you thinking I had it out for you or anything. I care too much about you guys to try and get you in trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I get it, we rack up a lot of problems with how we work.” Kalpin shrugged, trying to pretend that today’s horrible punishment was no big deal. He quirked an eyebrow at her. “So, if we only got the bad half of the report, what was the other half going to be about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, your successes, obviously.” Suzanne wrinkled her nose and lifted both hands, a smile starting to spread across her face. “For all your problems, you two still have the highest success ratio of any PRT duo within a few hundred miles. I wanted to see if we could extrapolate that, and get you guys some recognition for that ‘easy-going professionalism’ you always talk about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All that just for us?” Kalpin leaned against the shelving opposite Suzanne’s, a smile growing on his face. “I’m pretty sure Wormwood would tell you that we were just sick in the head and lucky. Given the way you just exposed me to the Bubonic Plague, I guess we’re now sick overall.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, if you’re already sick, then I guess it can’t get any worse.” Suzanne moved closer, putting an arm around her boyfriend and pressing her lips to his. A long minute went by without any words passing between them, though there was certainly a lot of communication. Finally, she drew back, grinning. “I feel better already. Thanks for understanding, Kal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anytime, Suzie.” Kalpin yelped as she poked him in the gut, and he wrapped her in his arms before she could do it again. “Sorry, sorry! I’ll just stick to Suzanne. Such a hostile workplace!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you forget it.” She gave him another peck, then wiggled out of his arms and headed for the door. “Come on, we’d better get back out there before Hobson gets lonely. Didn’t you guys have some sort of horrible punishment today? What did Wormwood give you, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, way to kill the mood.” Kalpin followed, sighing theatrically. “She said we have to…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My name is Kally, Agent Kally of the FBI.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve been partnered with a man named Tiger, a crazy conspiracy theorist who will follow any lead, any angle, any possibility to try and find the truth. He claims that the truth is out there all the time, almost like it’s some sort of catch phrase, and I just roll my eyes at him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s my job to keep him on the straight and narrow. My job to ignore the strange explanations he has for perfectly ordinary coincidences. My job to stay by his side, no matter what, as we delve into the darkness of humanity. My job to support him...a job I take seriously.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Last week we came across a strange body that had been drained of all its blood, two small holes on the neck. Tiger claimed it was a vampire, but I pointed out that no creature would be able to drink all the blood from a human male in one go. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>1.5 gallons of blood all has to go somewhere, after all. Later we watched a man turn into a cloud of bats. May have been a hallucination. We had both inhaled some swamp gas a few minutes earlier, but I put it in my report.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Today we’re hunting for someone who can supposedly do something that normally only exists in the world of comic books and fantasy. Most agents would reject the case, or pretend that they had better things to do...but not us. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>These are...the Hess Files.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, why do you call them the Hess Files?” Velocity asked, and rather than replying Kalpin just turned the car’s radio up to drown him out. Unfortunately, the crappy car they’d been given by the motor pool barely had a working engine, much less a radio. “Hold up, as in Sophia Hess?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kalpin remained silent, as if pretending that there hadn’t been a voice from the back of the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are at least partially correct.” Hobson turned around and looked at Velocity as they hit a red light, glad to see the cape was still wearing his seatbelt. “Her information led us to visit her brother, Terrence. He escaped, but we got his files on the criminal and parahuman elements of Brockton Bay he was interested in recruiting. His crew has been more active lately, but he keeps evading arrest, so we’re trying to get his targets before he can. But-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you guys think that one of the junkie parahumans he mentioned in his files is in this area, okay. Got it, I remember now, thanks.” Velocity quickly replied, bouncing his hand on his knee as he pulled at the too-tight seatbelt for the hundredth time. “Also, can I please take this-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you can’t.” Hobson cut him off, pointing at the car’s dashboard and reprimanding the other man. “As long as the engine is on, you will wear a seatbelt, or this car will not move.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay.” The Protectorate hero turned as red as his costume, then let out a little grunt as Hobson hit the brakes. They appeared to have hit every single red light in the area, and were only halfway done with the patrol. “Sorry, I just can’t believe that Wormwood and Armsmaster are forcing us to spend time together. A lock in? It’s like something out of a bad sitcom!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Finally, something I agree with him on! This is a complete waste of...” Kalpin piped up, then crossed his arms and clamped his mouth shut. He had refused to speak to the hero ever since they’d gotten in the same car over an hour ago. “I mean...whatever. I’m taking a nap.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the reasons Kalpin had been up all night was because he’d been working on cleaning up a video of Hess in action from a few days back. He’d been caught on camera training his men, and now they knew what his ‘work clothes’ looked like. The teenager who had taken the video from between wooden fence slats had even gotten a closeup of Hess’ face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thanks to Kalpin, his file had been updated, and BBPD was on the lookout for a big black guy in heavy clothing, barely covering the bulky Leet-made Tinkertech armor he’d stolen a while back. What stood out most about Hess was the way his eyes always seemed to be moving, his deep rumbling voice, and his obsession with pushing his men to their limits. Hence, today’s patrol.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three sat in silence for several minutes, the only sound being the muffler scraping on the ground outside, Kalpin’s fake snores, and Velocity’s finger tapping on the sole of his boot. Both PRT agents glanced at each other as they noted that the tapping was starting to speed up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gah! I can’t take this silent treatment anymore!” Velocity threw his hands in the air, ignoring the way his hands left small dents in the car’s ruined upholstery. “This is why I hate you guys! You throw an immature fit every time I try to interact with you. I don’t know why you hate me for trying to help, but I’m seriously not trying to steal your glory...or whatever your excuse is!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbeknownst to Velocity, Kalpin and Hobson played a quick game of rock paper scissors, which Hobson won thanks to his partner’s tell. The shorter agent sighed, and turned around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, it’s true that we hate how your appearances always turn any interview with us into ‘The Velocity Show.’ Capes tend to take center stage in anything they’re involved in, so if we spent a week on a case and you just show up, it all goes to you.” Kalpin held up a hand as Velocity started to reply. “But! That’s not why we’re always trying to get rid of you. Your presence forces us to escalate the charges, handling, and so on for what’s usually a very low-key crime. You just being onsite can change a sentence from a few months to a few years!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But my presence, even if I don’t do anything but stand there, can also mean that people are more willing to give up.” Velocity argued back, then shifted to his breaker state and tapped Kalpin’s seat a dozen times at high speed. The seat’s upholstery barely moved. “Plus, you know that with my power I’m more of a presence than a force multiplier. I don’t even need to fight!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As much as I’d love to make fun of you for having punches as effective as those of a toddler, and really, that’s all I want to do right now...” Kalpin cut himself off, seeing his partner glaring at him, and took a deep breath. “You’re a sledgehammer in a city full of hammers and nails. Thing is, you treating all of us PRT hammers like we can’t even handle a few nails is honestly kinda insulting. Plus, you smashing tiny little shoplifter nails will drive them into a board, but it’ll also bend them and make sure they’ll never be anything useful again. Wait, I mean...um...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think your analogy is starting to fall apart, Kalpin.” Hobson muttered, and his partner checked to make sure they were at a red light before slugging him in the arm. “Worth...it…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, then how about this? I’ll try to be better about asking permission before just showing up, and you two stop acting like I have some kind of vendetta against you. I’m the fastest speedster on the east coast, no matter what Battery says, so I can come or go in no time. Just be polite!” The hero shook Kalpin’s hand, then glanced at his partner. “Hobson? You’ve been mighty quiet up there...you got any grievances you wanna air? Might as well keep this going...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm? Oh no, I was just thinking about the weather. This wind is very...unique.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, Hobson was actually using every bit of his self-control to keep himself from smiling. He had suggested this lock-in plan to Armsmaster and Wormwood weeks earlier, and knew both Velocity and Kalpin would be mad if they found out. Maybe he’d tell them someday.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, now that you mention it, the sound of it is kind of strange.” Kalpin rolled down his window, cocking his head and putting a hand to his ear. “It almost sounds like...screaming?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moments later, their car was up on the sidewalk, siren blaring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They screeched to a halt a hundred feet away from what appeared to be a miniature tornado. All three leaned forward to see just what the hell the source of this strange weather phenomenon was. Unsurprisingly, it was exactly what (or rather, who) they had expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looks like you guys were dead on,” Velocity whispered, looking down at the photograph Hobson had handed him earlier, then back up. “The Hess Files finally came through.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before them were nearly a dozen men and women with an assortment of knives and broken bottles, dressed in mismatched pants, jackets, and hats. All had pale skin, and eyes that were red from irritation. The source of the irritation was the same force keeping them all at bay...as well as whipping up an irritating dust storm. She was also the one screaming.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a young woman, perhaps no older than her late teens, dressed in gray overalls and with hair covering her face. Her skin was dark, but it was hard to tell how much of that was from genetics and how much from grime. From what they could see, she had been sleeping in a dumpster when the junkies came after her, and she didn’t take kindly to the interruption.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hess’ files refer to her as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Whirlygig</span>
  </em>
  <span>, although that might just have been his nickname for her.” Hobson quickly explained, pulling out his taser and checking it. Kalpin was already digging something out of the glove box, a hand-held confoam sprayer, cursing as he accidentally let a glob leak out of it. “She can spin things around her, creating a sort of one-person tornado.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but she’s also known for heavy drug use, and Hess’ notes say she steals from dealers.” Velocity had skimmed over the file as well, and even now he winced as he saw one of the girl’s opponents throw a broken bottle at her. It spun around her twice, then flung itself right back at the grungy man. He shrieked and ran. “They must have come to collect, and she’s panicking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Indeed, in the time it had taken them to check their gear and call it in, the parahuman had already wounded four other people. Whirlygig was screaming at the top of her lungs, swinging her hands around like a wild beast. Whatever drugs she was on had given her an almost berserker rage, and Velocity knew that his powers would be integral to...to…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crap!” The speedster pulled at his seatbelt, pressing the button to release it a dozen times in a second. “My seatbelt is stuck! I can’t...get...free! Wait for me, this is too much for you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, we can handle ourselves.” Kalpin winked at Velocity, then popped the door open and headed out. “I can’t let her hurt anyone else, or herself!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s right, we’ll just have to occupy her as best we can.” Hobson tossed his satchel at the hero, going out as well. He shouted over his shoulder, “Knife in the satchel, cut yourself free!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then both were gone, running headlong into the storm regardless of the consequences.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Velocity stared at them for a moment, then started to dig for a knife.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stupendous Guy flew through the massive hurricane at top speed, doing his best to dodge the debris that was trapped in its dastardly clutches. The storm was the size of a small city, growing ever-larger with each passing minute, and far too great for lesser heroes to handle.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Even fellow hero Speed Force had advised Stupendous Guy to stay away, but he knew that this was no ordinary hurricane. His Super Hearing was picking up screaming from inside, and as he finally reached its eye...he saw the source. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A monstrous bug creature, latched onto a young woman...its tentacles digging into her veins. She floated in the middle of the hurricane, screaming with fear and anger as the bug pumped horrible drugs and chemicals into her. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She may have once been an ordinary girl, perhaps even a hero, but this terrible monster was twisting her to its evil ends. Worse, she was surrounded by a dozen smaller monsters, all preventing her from fighting off the bug!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Normally Stupendous Guy would never think to tackle such a challenge on his own...but he wasn’t alone. Floating beside him was his stalwart companion, Master Tiger. Knowing that there was nothing they couldn’t handle together, the two shared a single nod.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Then with speed that shattered the sound barrier, both blasted towards their foes…</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>They would save the girl, stop the monsters, and win the day!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still don’t understand how you guys pulled that off.” Velocity shook his head, looking on as Hobson hugged the crying Whirlygig. Kalpin just smiled, setting down another orange cone, then standing back as the speedster blurred. In moments, a large area around them was blocked off with police tape. “I thought for sure she was going to... I mean...you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but Hobson knows so much about child psychology that he could practically open a practice, and I’m used to thinking outside the box. We both saw that she was scared, and once we cleared out the people attacking her it was easy to talk her down.” He checked his phone and saw that backup was a few minutes out. “Not being treated as a scary monster helped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, speaking of scary stuff, I’d better go handle that mess.” He pointed with his chin at the Channel 12 news van, letting out a sigh as he walked off. “Great job, guys.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Over the next few minutes, Velocity talked to an ever-growing crowd of reporters while Kalpin and Hobson talked to Whirlygig (or Denise, as she preferred to be called). Hobson gave her some water and a cereal bar, the girl having gone days without food. When the PRT arrived, they gently handed her off, promising to check on her in a few hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both were about to leave, but turned back to see Velocity waving at them. Rolling their eyes and approaching, both prepared to be mere guest stars in the Velocity Show, and were surprised to hear something different for once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-so there I was, trapped, and these two stepped in and saved my butt.” The hero grabbed Kalpin’s shoulder and pulled the shorter man to his side. He put the PRT agents between himself and the reporters, adding, “They took her on, no powers, and talked her down while I recovered. I don’t often fall down, but when I do I’m proud to have people like Kalpin and Hobson by my side. They’re the real heroes here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he turned and walked away, but Hobson caught his arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Velocity, before you go. First, thank you for your candor today.” The red-suited speedster started to shake his head, but then saw Hobson turn his notebook towards the man. The PRT agent whispered, “Whirlygig said she got her drugs from this address, and that her dealer was extremely high last night when she stole from him. Could you look into it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Velocity grinned, nodding, and took off after calling for backup. Upon arriving and opening the door, he was struck with a horrible smell. The sole inhabitant of the room was barely coherent, but that actually worked out in the Protectorate hero’s favor. Even as the PRT were loading him into a van, the man was telling anyone who would listen about a cool party he’d been invited to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s even gonna be some big names there, and I can totally get you in as a VIP!” The dealer bragged, waving his cuffed hands at them as they ‘helped’ him retrieve various baggies and bottles from his run-down apartment. Leaning in close and trying not to recoil at the man’s breath, Velocity heard him whisper, “Hey, I’ll split the finder’s fee if ya let me recruit ya. Ever since Hess stole Mush and some guys, Skidmark’s been desperate for capes. You in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, I’d love to join a gang.” Velocity acted cheerful, then whispered, “In fact, I have a whole bunch of other capes I know. Maybe they could come along too? Where’s this party gonna be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, Velocity was filling out his report, checking Armsmaster’s helmet camera for details. The Tinker had only gloated a little bit when Velocity explained that his tip came from those guys Armsmaster had forced him to work with. Colin’s ego grew three sizes that day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, it had been a hell of a tip. The Protectorate and PRT had arrested dozens of criminals, recovered thousands of pounds of drugs, and picked up a loud Tinker who’d drunkenly wrecked her own battle-car. Skidmark had gotten away, but it was still a successful night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All thanks to Velocity’s two new friends. He wondered how he could pay them back...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of, he heard a familiar voice and looked up, seeing that Armsmaster was watching the news nearby. They were replaying the interview with Kalpin and Hobson, and both looked happier than he’d ever seen them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>-but in the end, after her aggressors were chased off, she settled down and saw reason. It didn’t matter that we were PRT and she was a criminal…” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hobson paused, tapping his heart and smiling. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>As a friend of mine once told me, we’re all the same at our core.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Excuse me, Agent Kalpin?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The camera turned to Kalpin, who currently had an invisible person in a headlock, acting out a fight. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Why did you and your partner throw yourselves into danger? How’d you know you could talk her down?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Funny you should ask that...</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Kalpin smiled, winking at Hobson and taking the microphone in his hand, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>There’s something my partner and I have been developing for years. We call it Easy-going Professionalism, and we think it’s going to change the entire culture of...</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Velocity just laughed and shook his head, watching them talk. Those two were far better than he’d given them credit for. He was actually looking forward to seeing them again. So much had changed in his life, in his town, just in the last few months...it was amazing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what’s weird?” Velocity asked Armsmaster, then continued when the man raised an eyebrow. “Day by day, nothing seems to change. But pretty soon...everything’s different.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>******************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: An old enemy becomes a teacher, an old friend helps someone find happiness, and a dark secret is revealed.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0050"><h2>50. 3.8: Learning to Explain Myself</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Even after several weeks as a Ward, every day was a new exciting experience. </p><p>Why, this very morning I’d been working with a few teammates on power combinations. For instance, blending Clockblocker’s power with Gallant’s had given me a cool time-stopping projectile, which had then inspired Kid Win. As he started to sketch out an idea for a gun that could temporarily freeze objects or people, I had gotten a text from George.</p><p>Naturally, I ignored it, since he usually sent me little articles and such throughout the day. Then I got another text, this one from Dad, followed by one from Mom, and finally an actual call from Deputy Director Renick. With an odd tone in his voice, he told me to drop everything, copy Gallant’s power to sense emotions, and go to an office on a floor I hadn’t visited. <b>Now</b>.</p><p>I arrived at what appeared to be a small conference room minutes later, but despite the obvious importance the secretary at the door told me to take a seat and wait. So, with nothing else to do, I put in my earphones and rewatched my interview from a few weeks ago. </p><p>I skipped through the first few minutes of Nick introducing me and getting the softball questions out of the way, like my powers and what my name meant. </p><p>Then the <em> real </em> interview started, and I realized how prophetic some of my answers had been...</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> “Being a teen hero, I have to imagine you deal with a fair bit of drama.” The crowd laughed at that, and I wondered if there was a sign telling them to. “But your powers depend on how much your teammates trust you. So, are you doing anything special to make that happen?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Right now I’m getting to know them, and figuring out what they want me to be.” I paused, and decided to rephrase. “I’ve put my foot in my mouth by talking too much before, but other times I’ve stayed quiet when I really should have said something. It’s hard to find a middle ground.” </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, February 26, 2011]</b>
</p><p>I had called Lisa after my interview, hoping to get her side of things. It didn’t go well...</p><p>“<em> You think I wanted this? I wanted to convince her that we should stay friends, because I knew that she knew nothing about my...other life. But she kept talking and pushing and telling me to be honest and then I panicked and my powers just...fucked it all up! Everything I said to make up for what I’d just said made it worse, and she got so pissed, and...just leave me alone! </em>”</p><p>Then she hung up on me. When I tried to call back, I found she’d blocked me.</p><p>Exhausted, I’d taken a nap in one of Wards dorm rooms. By the time I got up, I could hear Missy’s voice down the hall, so I went to join her...</p><p>But it turned out she wasn’t alone, and I froze as I saw a familiar face turn to stare at me.</p><p>Sophia Hess.</p><p>Missy, fast on her feet as ever, had dragged her friend over to me and started telling a tale of my time as a Ward. Judging by how much she embellished our exchanges during power testing, it seemed like the preteen was doing her best to paint me in a good light. The whole time, Sophia was just looking between us, her expression slowly shifting into a frown.</p><p>Missy eventually ran out of things to say, and I just stood there staring at Sophia. She looked smaller than I remembered, and kept avoiding my gaze. It was as if she was nervous, and that wasn’t an emotion I associated with her. Missy finally took pity on us and made a suggestion.</p><p>“So I was thinking maybe we could all get some food, then we could-”</p><p>“Nope.” Sophia turned and walked towards the door. She didn’t even hit the button to open it, just passing right through. Her transition into her Shadow form was seamless.</p><p>Missy turned the full force of her annoyed gaze on me.</p><p>“What the hell was that?” She waved at the door, then poked me in the chest. “I talked you up as some nice guy who had helped bring us back together, and you just stood there like you’d taken a vow of silence! Couldn’t you say anything? Compliment her? Welcome her back?”</p><p>“I couldn’t think of anything to say.” I admitted, stepping back as she moved to poke me again. “Seriously, what could I have said? ‘Hey Sophia, wow you look so skinny, lose some weight?’ Or maybe ‘congrats on fighting your way out of the asylum I helped get you sent to?’ Perhaps-”</p><p>“Okay, I get it!” She clenched her fists, then closed her eyes and took a breath. When her eyes opened, she looked contrite. “Sorry. She’s been having a crappy week, Gallant keeps just waiting for her to slip up, and...I’m trying to get her back to normal.”</p><p>“What’s normal for her? Spending all day in the gym and all night kicking butt?”</p><p>Missy shook her head, sighing. “Her accesses are locked until she finishes more community service. No PRT gym, no kicking butt, no...anything without a PRT-approved chaperone.”</p><p>“That explains why she walked through the door.” I muttered, then accidentally said something I would come to regret within a very short amount of time. “Too bad she can’t just join Ethan’s gym, Compensation. Most of the patrons are PRT, and Carlos works there. Oh well.”</p><p>Missy’s face lit up.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> “So, one of the biggest questions we had on our site was: are you here to replace Shadow Stalker?” Nick tried to phrase it as a gentle question, but I could practically feel the writhing annoyance of the thousands of people who probably thought a cool shadow badass was being replaced by a skinny geek. “I mean, you did sort of pop up a month after she vanished.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Nick, to start off, let me say that no Ward could ever replace another. We’re all unique, and not just because of our powers.” I took a moment to think, then shrugged. “I’m pretty sure if I tried to replace Shadow Stalker, she’d glare a hole in my head. She’s pretty...unique.” </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Sunday, February 27, 2011]</b>
</p><p>“Sophia’s still glaring at me.” I muttered to Missy, and she waved me off. It was impossible for either of us to miss with the mirrors in front of us. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d been on a treadmill when she came in with Missy ten minutes ago, I’d probably have run right out of <em> Compensation </em> to avoid Sophia. “If she throws that weight at me, I’m blaming you.”</p><p>“It’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could-” We both winced as a metal crashing noise echoed through the gym. I started to hit the pause button, but Missy reached out with her power and slapped my wrist. “No! This is all part of my plan, and Ethan has her well in hand. Well, mostly.”</p><p>Behind us, I could see Sophia in a quiet argument with Ethan, his legendary patience likely wearing thin at her antics. Rather than kick her out, he just pointed at the weights she’d knocked over. She eventually let out a huff, then started cleaning up her mess for the third time. </p><p>“If nothing else, it’s a good workout for her, taking all the dumbbells down and then putting them back on the rack again.” Missy neared the end of her run, switching to a cooldown speed. I was extremely jealous of her, both for her even breathing and speed. “Getting back in shape is all she’s talked about all week, so I dunno why she’s so pissy. She has a gym, you’re a workout partner that Carlos said is here all the time, and she’s acting like you’re trying to replace her.”</p><p>“At the risk of sounding nothing like the teenager I play on TV, have you tried just talking to her? Like, asking her why she’s so pissed off at me? I mean, what could it possibly be?”</p><p>“Best I can figure is that she wants to prove herself, and you threaten her.” Missy and I wiped our machines and headed off to stretch by the unused fighting ring. “She’s still kind of getting used to the idea of being able to talk to people about things. Trusting people isn’t easy, for her.”</p><p>“No, I understand, I just wish I could do more than make her glare at me.” I turned at the sound of metal on metal, and was relieved to see that Sophia had just dropped a weight a bit harder than normal onto the rack. I leaned against the ring, adding, “We’re supposed to be teammates, or we will be sooner or later...but all she wants to do is fight me. I don’t get it.”</p><p>“Hmm, you know...I have an idea if you’re up for trying it.” Missy was looking back and forth between Sophia and I, chewing her lip. Sophia had started to trudge over, but stopped halfway and looked down at her feet. This was nothing like her, and it bugged me. “I know how to make that dumbass respect you, although fair warning that it might take a while...or backfire horribly.”</p><p>“Remind me to tell you about my plan to infiltrate the ABB sometime.” I shook my head as she looked at me oddly. I waved it off, smiling. “Like I said, later on. My point is, I’m used to dumb plans backfiring horribly. You’re my teammate now, so it’s all good.”</p><p>“Okay, well don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Missy jogged over to her friend, then whispered something in her ear. I just stood there nervously, then recoiled as I saw Sophia was stalking towards me with murder in her eyes. </p><p>She beat the crap out of me, but at least we were wearing gloves and pads.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> “There must be a lot of pressure on you, I can’t imagine what that’s like. I mean, I just read things people put in front of me and look handsome, so my job’s pretty easy.” Nick grinned as the audience laughed, and I joined them. “But seriously, how do you deal with the pressure of knowing that you might fail? Brockton Bay isn’t exactly the safest town to be a hero.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “You’re right, it’s not nearly as safe as some places in the country, but I’ll be entirely honest with you, Nick. I’m scared out of my mind almost all the time.” I kept my voice light, but nobody laughed as I paused. “Anxiety plagues me, worries assail me, and I’m constantly afraid that I’m going to mess up. But the thing is, a fight where I have teammates beside me is a fight I have a chance to win. So even if I don’t get the plan, I know I’m not fighting alone.” </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, March 04, 2011]</b>
</p><p>Just like the last dozen times Missy told me to get into the ring with Sophia, I took Missy aside and asked her to explain the plan to me. Like every other time, she told me, “Things are in motion, just give it some more time. We’re nearly there.”</p><p>Nearly every day of the week I’d come to Compensation to find Sophia here, working out despite her obvious exhaustion. She’d take one look at me, talk with Missy, then challenge me to fight her in the ring. Best three out of five, but each time she took all five wins and then walked out of the ring without a word. Ten fights a day, against an impossible opponent!</p><p>This time was no different, and I started to wonder if this was just Missy paying me back for accidentally calling her Misty all the time. It was hard to unlearn that, come on! </p><p>The first fight, Sophia beat me easily, but I saw it coming. Fighting (and losing to) her over fifty times in a week had given me some insight into her fighting style. </p><p>For the second fight I fought defensively, keeping my distance and guarding, but still lost. I managed to land a few blows, and nearly tripped her over the course of a full minute.</p><p>The third fight went the same way, but I was getting better at dodging her now. She was getting really tired, and I made the mistake of laughing as she went sprawling after a missed grab.</p><p>Fight four was so fast I barely tracked what she did, payback for my laugh probably. But from the way she was gasping it must have tired her out. I’d learned not to ask if she needed a break, and just let her limp back into place and take a stance. </p><p>As she moved, I looked around and saw nearly a dozen people watching, including Theo. He’d been watching our fights all week, even recording them once, and I couldn’t blame him. Sophia was a hell of a fighter, even if she was beating the tar out of me on a regular basis. I’d seen him talking to Sophia and Missy a few times, the latter more than the former, and wondered why.</p><p>“3...2...1...Go!” Ethan called out, and the others let out a cheer.</p><p>Sophia went in for a punch that I barely saw, my hands already coming up to block it. It had been a feint, but I managed to dodge to the side and avoid the real one. I’d noticed that she usually followed a 1-2 like that with a kick, so I hopped back and was rewarded with a curse as a breeze flashed across my ankles.</p><p>I darted in close, lifting my left arm to catch her elbow. It hurt, but left her open for a strike to her kidneys. Well, I assume they were her kidneys. Whatever they were, she let out a grunt and staggered forward, so I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and try to grapple her. </p><p>Turning, I was taken by surprise when I found her knee in my stomach. Sophia must have faked her fall forward, spinning around on one foot and bringing her knee up. The air blasted out of my lungs, along with my mouthguard, and I quickly brought my hands up to block the punch I <em> knew </em> was coming.</p><p>Her jaw nearly dropped as I pushed the blow high enough that I could duck under it. Then I returned the favor with the same move I’d used on Julia, driving my shoulder up into <em> her </em> gut and lifting with all the strength I had. Either she’d lost some weight or I’d gained some strength, because it felt like a few seconds before her back <em> slammed </em> into the mat. </p><p>Unfortunately, I made the same mistake as with Julia, mashing my face into Sophia’s stomach, dazing myself enough that she was able to roll away before I could grab her. I started to get up, but she slipped behind me and I felt her hand on my ankle.</p><p>Before I could do anything, she pulled so hard that I went face-first into the mat again. Next thing I knew, Sophia had my left shoulder under her knee and my right ankle still pulled back so hard that I could feel my hip and spine straining. </p><p>I tapped the canvas, twice, and she let go.</p><p>
  <em> I guess I should have expected that. She was tired, but way faster than me. Damn, so close! </em>
</p><p>What I hadn’t expected was to open my eyes and roll over, seeing a hand in my face. Confused, I took it, and Sophia pulled me to my feet with some effort. I thanked her, but she just shrugged.</p><p>I accepted condolences from the other patrons, but it didn’t escape my notice the way most of them were crowded around Sophia. Even Theo had given me little more than a smile before joining the Sophia crowd, and I couldn’t really blame him.</p><p>“So, it looks like I’m still the genius in our group.” Missy swaggered up to me, leaning against the ring. I rubbed my face, feeling with my tongue to make sure all my teeth were still there. “My plan finally paid off, like I knew it would. They really ought to make <em> me </em> the leader, right?”</p><p>“Explain the plan to me again. I mean, if the idea was to let her work off stress by beating the crap out of me, then mission accomplished.” I heard a groan, and saw that Sophia was shaking her head and frowning at Theo. “Oh great, I’d better grab Theo before she murders him.”</p><p>“Hold up, this is part of the plan.” Missy grabbed my arm, lowering her voice. “She connected you on the battlefield after you did something worthy of respect. She’s been basking in praise all week. Now, she’s giving advice to someone in need. It was how we became friends way back-”</p><p>“No, widen your stance more!” Sophia nearly shouted, kicking Theo’s feet until he moved them further apart. Once that was done, she moved behind him and grabbed the top of his head in one hand and put the other on his left hip. “You left-handed? Okay, you need to twist less. Try-”</p><p>Their lesson was still going after I’d changed, and both barely glanced at me as I headed out the door. Praying for Theo’s survival, I nearly ran into someone just outside. An apology halfway to my lips, I paused as I looked up...and up...and up at a huge black guy who was glaring at me. </p><p>“S-sorry about that. I was just looking at...um…my friend Theo.” I was a little intimidated as he seemed to loom over me before suddenly backing off. He was dressed in thick winter clothing with a hood up, looking beefier than Brian and almost as tall. “Are you joining Compensation?”</p><p>“No, I just recognized someone I used to spar with, that young lady over there.” He gestured at Sophia, a grin appearing on his face, and chuckled. His voice was a deep rumble that unnerved me a little bit. “I hadn’t seen her in a while, and was glad to see her making friends. Anyway, I need to get going, but I’ll be sure to stop by later so we can...catch up. Have a nice day.”</p><p>He turned and left, jogging away so fast that if it hadn’t been for the lack of haze around him I’d have thought he was a parahuman. Still, if he knew Sophia, he was probably in great shape.</p><p>Then I got a call from Dean that I was late for patrol, and took off just as fast.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> “Going from an ordinary teenager to a Ward must be a heck of a change of pace. You need to train with your team, learn to use your powers, patrol, and still keep up with school, a social life, and more! I’m sure dating can’t be easy…” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Actually, I’m kind of taking a break from dating right now. I recently-” I stopped as I saw Taylor flinch, and tried not to think about all the other times she’d done that. Grasping for an escape, I tried something sappy. “I spent so much time focusing on my powers at first, that I’m trying to balance that out by helping my friends. Having powers doesn’t mean I don’t make mistakes, and so being a good friend and holding myself accountable is more important than ever.” </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Monday, March 07, 2011]</b>
</p><p>“I’m sorry.”</p><p>Allen stared back at me impassively, but he waited for me to continue.</p><p>“You were doing what was best for you, and your mental health. I should have tried to see things from your point of view, but instead I panicked.” It was hard to resist making a self-deprecating joke, or looking down at my feet, but any moment now he might decide to walk away. Even though he’d been polite the past few days, I still felt like something was broken between us, and that it was my fault. “I said some stuff I regret, and I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”</p><p>“You asked whether my medication was making me crazy.” Allen’s words made me flinch, but he was only throwing my own words back at me. Larry, my parents, Taylor, and everyone else had told me how dumb that had been. I had just been so scared...but that wasn’t an excuse. My dumb mouth had ruined everything, and that was my fault. “That hurt, Greg. It hurt a lot.”</p><p>“I know, I remember how much it hurt when people teased me for-” I cut myself off, shaking my head. No, this wasn’t about me. This was about Allen. Overhead, the bell rang and the hallways started to clear. I started to panic a little, “I can’t take that back, but I can promise that I’ll try to be better. I hope that someday you’ll call me a friend again, but if not I totally understand-”</p><p>“We never stopped being friends, Greg. I just needed time to remember why I wanted to be your friend in the first place.” Allen’s hand patted me on the back, and as if drawn by his gravitational pull I followed him towards the cafeteria. “Apologizing like this, after thinking things through? It jogged my memory, and tells me that you want to be <em> my </em> friend just as much. That’s all there is.”</p><p>Just like that, after weeks of tearing myself apart, I had my friend back. Not only that, but that gravitational pull had apparently gathered a new celestial body during our time apart. While we’d been at odds, he’d started eating lunch with Carlos. They had a lot in common, both in their physiques and their taste in books, and today he was happy to join our table for lunch. </p><p>As the two of them chatted about something related to baseball, I looked across the table at Taylor. It had turned out that she wasn’t fired, and in fact Lisa had blamed her own outburst on sleep deprivation and a migraine. They were talking again, albeit only through text, but they were making progress. Lisa had even unblocked my phone number, so...back to normal?</p><p>Finally, beside me was Theo, calmly eating lunch despite the bruises covering his arms and cheek. He kept insisting to everyone that he’d gotten them taking a self-defense course, and that had earned him some real respect. As I dug into my lunch, I was surprised to see that he was openly smiling, and asked, “Theo, you’ve been grinning all day, what’s up? Good news?”</p><p>“Oh, nothing big.” He answered quickly, then paused and blushed. “Actually, I recently got some extra self-defense training. I found someone really good at pointing out my <em> many </em> weaknesses.”</p><p>“Oh, really?” Given how Sophia had mulched me, she must have gone easy on him. “Congrats.”</p><p>“After our first lesson, I had learned so much that I tried to pay her back. She said she didn’t want anything, but then her friend Missy suggested I buy her lunch.” Theo lowered his voice as he talked, but still looked so happy. “She agreed, and we had a lot of fun. In fact, she agreed to train me again tomorrow night...in exchange for another meal afterwards. So it’s...kind of date?”</p><p>“Wow, that’s...” I cringed inwardly, then flicked my eyes at Taylor. She was eating and reading a book, unaware we were talking about Theo having a date with the girl who used to bully her. Time to strategically change the subject! “Speaking of training, what’s your opinion on-”</p><p>I made a mental note to talk to Missy, get her help making Sophia work things out with Taylor.</p><p>On the other hand, it was just one date. No way this would work out.</p><p>***</p><p>
  <em> “Well, it sounds like you’ve got quite a career ahead of you, and we’re just about out of time, so I’ll hand it over to you. Core, do you have anything you want to share with the world?” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> “Sure, I’ll take a shot at it.” I turned to face the camera that was lit up, and tried to project the confidence that heroes always seemed to have in spades. “I can’t promise that I’m going to be the best hero ever, but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to try. In fact, if there’s one thing I can promise all my friends, my family, my teammates, and every single person I know, it’s that I won’t stop trying no matter what. If anyone tries to hurt the people I care about, I-” </em>
</p><p>
  <em> RING </em>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, March 19, 2011]</b>
</p><p>I nearly jumped out of my chair as the video suddenly cut out, a ringing sound replacing my super-inspirational speech. I pulled my earphones out and answered my phone.</p><p>“Hello?” Theo’s voice was clear, and I smiled as I heard him crunching through gravel somewhere. Seemed like he was always on the move these days, especially since he started dating someone who used to run track. “Greg? Hey, just wanted to let you know I’d be missing our usual training session today. I’ve got...um...plans.”</p><p>“Really, do these plans involve a girl who kicked my butt for a week straight?” There wasn’t a hint of malice in my words, not since I’d managed to beat Sophia in the ring thanks to her own training. Though Theo got the lion’s share of her teaching, the three of us had teamed up to really push each other to new heights of fitness and skill. “What are you up to?”</p><p>“We’re meeting up at the gym, then I’m taking her out for lunch and a movie. Missy’s coming too, since we’re going to sneak her into the third Breakneck movie. Apparently Sophia promised her, and I’m pretty sure Missy only puts up with me because Sophia likes me.”</p><p>“Eh, I think there’s more to it than that. You’re good for her, man.” I may not have been an expert on relationships, but even I could see why Theo and Sophia had hit it off. Both had shitty family problems, but had managed to rise above it. Add in Sophia’s need to get back in shape and Theo’s need to get in shape, and you had a hell of a team. They seemed to meet up every other day, thanks to Missy. “Anyway, I’m meeting my family for...lunch. So I’ll see you-”</p><p>“Excuse me, but you look incredibly familiar for some reason.” A deep, rumbling voice in the background interrupted me, and I heard Theo pull his phone away from his ear. The voice sounded familiar, and continued, “Ah yes, Theo! I’ve seen you at Compensation. You’re quite a fighter. Say, can I borrow your phone for a moment, I lost mine and need to call my sister.”</p><p>“Sure thing, just a second.” Theo’s voice came back, sounding slightly nervous. His voice lowered a bit, “Looks like someone needs my help. Later, Greg.”</p><p>Almost as if she’d been waiting, the moment I hung up was when the secretary finally directed me towards a nearby conference room. Inside, I found Mom, Dad, George, and some guy in a PRT dress uniform. They sat around a table covered in folders, and before I could speak Mom and Dad both rose and hugged me. I saw an aura of relief around both, with some fear.</p><p>“Greg, sorry to call you away from your friends, but this is…” Mom trailed off, pulling back and leading me to the table. It was covered in folders stamped with a variety of symbols from the PRT, FBI, CIA, Interpol, and WEDGDG. I knew the last one was a sort of financial sub-group within the PRT, so was this about all the cape merch I’d sold through Ren before joining?</p><p>I took a quick glance around the room with Emotion Sense, as I sat between my parents. George was worried, Mom was nervous, Dad was worried <em> and </em> nervous, and the uniform guy was...calm. Silently, he slid a folder to me and I found several NDAs inside. </p><p>Mom immediately walked me through signing them all, and I noticed hers and Dad’s signatures already on there. What puzzled me was that the dates on their signatures were nearly two years old. They didn’t say anything when I asked, exchanging a glance. I was getting creeped out, and having the door suddenly lock and a popping noise (electronic countermeasures?) didn’t help.</p><p>“Thank you, Gregory. I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here, and why Deputy Director Renick told you to copy Gallant’s power. The reason is so that you can use it to see that we’re telling the truth, since we don’t have time to dally.” The guy in the uniform calmly explained, flashing a PRT badge. “You may call me Nutcracker. I’ve been investigating the Empire 88 and their backers for the last several years. We had hoped you would never have to learn of it…”</p><p>“But because of Kaiser, we’ve had to move the timetable up a little.” George finished, and I felt the temperature drop in the room. I saw pride, worry, and a hint of fear in his aura. “I’m sorry Greg. I had to keep it a secret to protect you, but that meant I had to lie for so long. But now that the deadline changed, my role just got a lot more dangerous, so I demanded we tell you-”</p><p>“Demanded? Your role? George, what the hell is going on? Is this a joke?” I stood and staggered backwards, looking at my parents for support. Neither so much as smiled, and I saw fear and sadness blazing in both of them. “P-Please, tell me this is a joke. Why are you...”</p><p>My mind raced as I thought of the secret missions I knew from TV and movies. Usually, an idiot kid like me would only find out about them by accident, when the mission was over, or if they needed me. This was none of those, and George had said his role had gotten more dangerous, the timetable was changing, and he’d demanded to talk to me first. I felt lightheaded as it hit me.</p><p>“It’s happening soon, isn’t it?” I wanted them to disagree, or for Gallant’s power to flag a lie when they agreed. But I didn’t see any deceit as he nodded. “W-What’s your role, George?”</p><p>“I helped infiltrate a company that worked as a front and money laundering operation for the E88. I helped make deals, find out schedules, pay off mercenaries, and plan takedowns for all their parahumans...including Kaiser.” George’s voice caught, and I was afraid to look at his emotions. “Tonight I’m leaving for Boston. This was the last chance I would have had to see you, and I wanted you to know...I wanted to tell you the truth, because...I might...”</p><p>He trailed off, and I turned to Mom and Dad. Both were both trying not to cry, and failing.</p><p>Nutcracker told me a story about what George had been doing the last few years.</p><p>Gallant’s power said it was all true, every single word, no matter how crazy.</p><p>But the worst part was the ending...that George might die tomorrow.</p><p>Because he was going after Kaiser.</p><p>*****************</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: A secret revealed, lives in danger, friends in peril, an old enemy returns, a hero risks everything, and an epic battle...</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0051"><h2>51. 3.9: Learning to Make Sacrifices</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: We’re entering a big crunch time at work in about 2-3 weeks, and so I’ve been speeding up my updates. Luckily, the remaining chapters are already finished, but I didn't want to risk accidentally failing to post the rest of it due to burnout.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>3.9: Learning to Make Sacrifices</b>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, March 19, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The story went on for a while, and Gallant’s power kept showing me sadness, anger, and determination, but not a single lie. My mind was whirling at the revelations, one after another, since the mission was going off tomorrow and they believed me to be trustworthy enough. Or even if they didn’t, George’s (possible) impending death was letting him bend the rules for me.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>George is a spy? Mom and Dad knew? Theo’s dad is a super-nazi? Theo’s step-mom is...Purity?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>They hadn’t actually unmasked anyone, but it wasn’t hard to connect the dots. Empire 88 was meshed with Medhall, headed by Max Anders, Theo’s dad. Kaiser had been married to Purity at one point, and they’d had a daughter. He also had a son who had recently run away from home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which explained so much of the way he acted, and why he hated his dad. A note assured me that Theo was living with [redacted], but context clues told me they were the Undersiders. Still, all I could think about was what had made him run away, and based on the timing...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Did my call during power testing make Max beat him into triggering? How do I apologize for that?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“-Purity was difficult to deal with, but her pride was her biggest weakness. She sees herself as some sort of hero, so we used that against her.” George bragged, pointing at a map of the town and some lines drawn on it. “She agreed to only patrol in neighborhoods of our choosing, ones with low crime rates and mostly white inhabitants. She also checks in with us every morning, and ever since Theo ran she away isn’t even doing surveillance for Kaiser. With a stipend and fancy food deliveries, we’ve turned her, Night, and Fog into shut-ins patrolling a nothing beat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what, you give her money and deliver fancy food to her apartment, and in exchange she’s just sitting around pretending to be good? So she gets away with all the horrible shit she’s done because she’s been coloring inside the lines for a few months?” I growled, and saw a spike of annoyance join the pride in George’s aura. “This deal is all give and no take! She’s tricking you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said we </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> a deal with her. She broke it a week ago, and that’s a reason I’m glad we’re moving the timetable.” He tapped papers signed by Director Costa-Brown, gritting his teeth and continuing, “We have all three on video assaulting people with their powers, and that’s just the start of our evidence. By this time tomorrow, all three will be in custody. She’s got a lifetime of consequences, and her lackeys are going to the Birdcage. Tomorrow, it all </span>
  <em>
    <span>ends</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing George talk like this, so cold and determined, was freaking me out a little bit. My baseball-loving, medical-minded, geeky older brother...and he was actually some kind of secret agent spy doctor? Working for a company with connections to nazis, a parahuman gang, and international crime syndicates? He’d been doing this for months...years, even!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they got to Melody, and I got so angry I nearly passed out. This was why I hadn’t seen her since I got my powers! George claimed that after the mission she’d be spending life in prison, that she’d been integral to his cover and intel-gathering. He called her a useful criminal, said she’d spend the rest of her life paying for her crimes. That their relationship was just a cover...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I was barely holding back from choking George to death. He’d brought a fucking murderous nazi into my house. Near my parents! A few weeks ago I’d been jealous of him for having such a cool, hot, awesome girlfriend, and now...I wanted to beat the shit out of her. Who cared if she betrayed the identities of all her fellow nazis, got Purity to make a deal, and...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, if you know the civilian identities of the Empire, why didn’t you take them down years ago?” I tried to distract myself from the thought of George fucking a nazi assassin, asking a question that had been bugging me. “Why go through all this? All these tricks and traps?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because this is bigger than just a bunch of nazi capes. Allfather built an empire, and it’s only grown since he took over. Kaiser has a hundred rat holes to hide in, failsafes in place, lawyers on retainer, and allies in Germany.” Nutcracker had mostly just been confirming things, but now he tried to play the voice of reason. “If we’d struck back then, he’d have called in every favor and burned every bridge...and killed thousands. Then, he’d escape, regroup, and start over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So instead, we gathered intel and planned. Found every one of his traps, all of his safe houses, all his money, and all his allies.” George took over, standing and pointing to his documents like they proved this was worth all the lies and danger. “So when we take him down, nothing is left but the ashes of his Empire. Nobody gets hurt except his people. The Empire shall fall-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it! Stop making inspiring speeches! This isn’t some big adventure!” I slapped my hand on the table, and glared at George. “Why does it have to be you? Why can’t someone else go?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because in three days, Kaiser is going to go to Germany and bring back reinforcements. We have to strike now! I leave for Boston tonight, because...” George’s voice caught, and he looked away before continuing. “Because I’m tired. I’m so tired of all the lies. I’m sick of pretending to laugh at their jokes, and just watching while these monsters ruin my town. I want to stop them, to finally put an end to their hatred. So we’re calling on all our allies, throwing everything we-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But why does it have to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” I choked on the last word, wiping at my eyes and trying to explain this to my stupid, brave, idiotic brother. I sprang to my feet, shrugging off Mom’s hands and stalked around the table, looming over him. “Why? I d-don’t wanna lose you! </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood and looked at me, a hundred emotions flashing through his aura in that moment. I wanted to grab him, to shake him, to hold on so he couldn’t leave. Then he hugged me, and I couldn’t even speak, something like a whine and a wet sob coming out of my mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I barely heard him as he assured me that he’d been training for years. That he’d have one of the most dangerous women in town with him...to protect him. The same person who had been his partner all these years. That he had a whole squad, and had backup plans upon backup plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But none of that erased the fact that he was putting his life on the line against a madman. That he’d be walking right up to Kaiser with only Cricket at his side, and arresting him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually I wiped my face, wished him luck, and said I was going home. George’s voice called after me as I left...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I kept walking, because I refused to say goodbye to my brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I lied about going home. My room reminded me of how George had helped me clean it up. Our living room reminded me of family game nights. Even the kitchen reminded me of that recipe for meatloaf he’d taught me. No, I needed to find something else to do, anything else!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried calling my friends, but all three went straight to voicemail. So I went to the gym.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg!” Missy was by the door, dragging me to the side as I entered. It was odd, since she was supposed to be at the movies with Sophia and Theo. But no, Sophia was over there, walking on a treadmill and staring at her phone. She looked dressed for a date, with a purple long-sleeved top, red shorts, new sneakers, and styled hair. “Have you seen Theo? Heard from him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, he didn’t show up?” I looked at the clock just inside the door, and realized I’d been in that meeting for a long time. By now, the three of them should have been halfway through a bloody horror movie. “That’s impossible. I talked to him over an hour ago, and he was on his way here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, he’s not here, and every time Sophia calls him it goes straight to voicemail. Luckily I reminded her that Daylight Savings was a few days ago, and that bought us some time.” Missy tried to smile at that, but I could see worry in her aura. “She’s kinda freaking out. Any ideas?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, hold on a minute.” I stepped outside, not even bothering to call Theo. Instead I texted Taylor and Allen, but neither had seen him, which meant that I was going to have to play a card I was hoping to avoid using. “Hello, Lisa? Is Theo working with you guys right now, because if-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theo? Theo from the gym? Greg, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lisa, stop.” I lowered my voice, glancing around before continuing. “I know he’s on your team. I’m worried about him, his girlfriend is worried, and I just want to make sure he’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His girlfriend? That murderous shitheel?” Lisa sounded pissed, and started to rant. “Do you have any idea the kind of crap she’s done? She shot Brian! Tried to kill him because-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t care! Sophia doesn’t matter right now! Theo does!” I roared, ignoring the passersby who gave me a wide berth. I tried to calm down, begging, “Please, we can deal with all that other crap later. But right now, I just want to make sure Theo’s okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Let me just...huh, that’s odd...” I heard clicking in the background, and my phone let out a little buzz. “The tracking app I installed on his phone pinged at this location seventy-nine minutes ago, but it’s offline now. Without a shutdown sequence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you have a tracking app on his phone?” I paused for a moment, remembering when she’d borrowed my phone a few weeks ago. “I’ll check it out. Hey, did you put one on my phone too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, the thing about that is…” Lisa paused, then hung up on me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Heard you shouting. You got something?” Sophia nearly spooked me into dropping my phone, and I turned to see her and Missy. Her aura was filled with hope and worry. “Was that Theo?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no, that was someone from...school. She saw him an hour ago.” It sounded lame, but neither of them seemed to care. The address Lisa had sent me was in a part of town the Wards weren’t allowed to patrol, a mile or two away. “She gave me the address. We should call the police and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck that, he might be hurt.” Sophia growled, reaching for my phone. I danced away from her, sliding it into my pocket and holding up my hands. “By the time the cops get off their asses and get over there, the trail will be cold. Either tell me where and I’ll go, or come with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about this? All of us go, and if there’s trouble then we hang back and call for help.” Missy stepped between us, glaring at her. “Besides, one of us is still on double secret probation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At a full run, we made it to a deserted alley in record time. I gasped and tried to catch my breath, while the other two split up. Seeing Missy take her phone out reminded me to check in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as I was texting Lisa for an update and Missy was talking to the police, Sophia was pacing around the alley and looking for clues. Her sneakers crunched on gravel, reminding me of Theo’s phone call. When I turned to say so, I saw her aura was bubbling and frothing...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a silver phone in her hands, one that had been shattered beyond repair. She made a choking noise, and I waved Missy over as Sophia’s aura boiled over with rage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, cops are on their way, what’s...is that Theo’s phone?” Missy’s aura went from hopeful with a side of worry to fearful with a large helping of anger in a moment. Sophia’s eyes blazed as she seemed to spot something, then took off down the alley and around the corner. “Wait!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I joined the chase, barely able to keep up, but slowed each time I saw the trail she seemed to be following. A splatter of blood on a brick wall. A trash can that had been dented by something heavy. A shoe that looked like one of Theo’s. Then finally, making me sick to my stomach...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Twin furrows in the gravel, as if someone had been dragged in this direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I rounded one last corner to see the trail had ended at a little run-down warehouse with a small grass-filled courtyard. It had a big metal door in front, two huge windows on either side of it. One was cracked, the other boarded up, and I slipped up to the latter alongside Missy and Sophia.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy was texting madly with Sophia’s phone while the older girl was using her power to pull nails out of the wood. Soon, Missy slid the phone back into Sophia’s pocket, just in time as she pulled a board aside and gestured at us. We crowded around and looked inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The interior was well-lit thanks to a giant hole in the ceiling. As our eyes adjusted to the light (and our noses to the smell), we realized the place was almost knee-deep with trash. Aside from a heavy metal door at the back of the room, there was no other way inside. The center of the room was mostly cleared, and there we saw a table, a chair, and two figures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One was huge, bulkier than Brian and covered in heavy clothing from head to toe. It was hard to see, but they were doing something with a soldering iron, glancing occasionally at someone in a chair nearby. What looked like a metal bowl with wires coming out of it was also on the table, along with a phone, some rope, and a first aid kit</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rope and the first aid kit had been used on Theo, who was tied to the chair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked...horrible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo’s clothes were torn, his arms and legs tied to those of the heavy chair he was in, and his breathing ragged. It looked like one eye was swollen shut, and as we watched he let out a choking noise and looked around. He spat some blood, then whined, “Please, let me go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You only have yourself to blame, Theo. I gave you a script, told you to call Sophia, and you smashed your phone. Then you tried to run, and here we are.” I recognized his rumbling voice. This was the person I’d heard earlier, before Theo had hung up on me! He gripped Theo’s forearm, eliciting a gasp of pain. “Now, are you ready to cooperate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you, I barely know Sophia!” Theo wailed, straining. “She trains me, that’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a snapping noise as the big man grabbed Theo’s hand, and my friend screamed. He started to say something, but another snapping noise came and he let out a choking sob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another snap. Another. Beside me, Sophia made a small noise, and I saw that she was just staring. Her aura was entirely fear, and she was shaking slightly as he kept talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Four lies so far today. Four fingers. I have pictures of you two doing more than training...you move fast for such a coward. Don’t know what she sees in you.” He released Theo’s broken fingers, then grabbed the phone and some paper from the table. “Let’s try this again. Are you ready to read the script, and get a ride to the hospital? Or do I have to break you, piece by piece, until you do it anyway? Next will be your arm-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay!” Theo gasped, shuddering and crying. He let out little gasping noises as the man dialed, clearing his throat. Sophia’s phone didn’t ring, and I realized that this was a test...but Theo didn’t know that. The moment someone answered, he spoke with fake cheerfulness. “Hey Sophia, I was wondering-There’s a guy who wants to kill you! He’s got me at-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo’s plea shifted into a scream, as the big man dropped the phone and grabbed his arm. A horrible crunching noise was barely audible over his keening wail, and then it suddenly cut off. Theo’s head drooped, the pain obviously making him faint, bone poking from his forearm...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“N-no. No. No. No!” I turned to see Sophia shaking and breathing quickly, her emotions all over the place before anger took over. She started to move for the door, but Missy grabbed her legs and the two went down. I dropped Gallant’s power and copied Sophia’s, having trained with her enough that I knew what her next tactic would be in a grapple. “Get off me! I have to stop him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shifted into her shadow form and stood, but I was already shifting into mine as I tackled her. Weighing much less, my flying tackle floated both of us under the cracked window. I struggled to hold her, and was glad when Missy slid beside us.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me go!” She shifted back to flesh, and I did the same, but she was stronger than me. “Let-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up!” Missy hissed, slapping Sophia. “He’ll hear us! What’s wrong with you? Who is that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Th-that’s...Terry.” Sophia whispered back, her voice thick. “My brother, Terry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He...that’s your brother? That’s the bastard who did all this to you?” Missy’s jaw dropped, and she shook her head as if she couldn’t wrap it around this detail. Theo moaned from inside, and we could hear something heavy and metal being torn. “We need to go get help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A felt calm, all the sudden. It was like how I felt back at Winslow, when I saw Sophia giving up. Or maybe this was how she felt, when I talked about being powerless. Terry had hurt Theo, he had tortured Sophia, and Missy was talking about retreat. But above all that...was George.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George’s situation had me feeling so helpless. But this? I could do something about this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We already called for help, and I’m guessing you updated them a minute ago?” I asked, getting a nod from Missy. I rolled off Sophia, getting into a crouch just under the window’s lip, and pulled a cloth mask out of my jacket. “What we need to do is buy time. I can copy Missy’s power, then the two of us can distract him while Sophia runs and gets help. She’s the fastest, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! Y-” Sophia’s shout was cut off as Missy slapped a hand over her mouth. She grabbed it and pulled the hand away, trying again in a hiss. “No! This is my fault, I can’t run away from this!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re on probation, and unlike us, you don’t have a mask.” Missy pulled a cloth mask from her pocket and tied it on. We stood over Sophia. “Besides, even </span>
  <em>
    <span>hearing </span>
  </em>
  <span>his voice wrecked you...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck that. Fuck fear. Fuck panic attacks.” Sophia stood, taking her shirt off and wrapping it around her head in a practiced motion. In shorts, sneakers, a tank top, and a purple shirt mask, she growled, “He’s my nightmare, so he’s my responsibility. Theo needs me. Let’s go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I kind of wished I still had Gallant’s power, because I was pretty sure that right now she was blazing with confidence and determination like never before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three of us, standing in front of a cracked window, ready to take on a villain who had tormented her for years. I looked in the window, and saw that...the back door was open and Terry had van-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>WHAM</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Something that felt like a mule hit me in the back, blasting me through the window. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sophia flying alongside me, but she shifted into her shadow form and slowed down. By the time I remembered I could do that as well, I was already hitting the trash-covered floor. Thanks to Brian’s combat training, I rolled until my momentum bled off, eventually coming to my feet as Sophia landed beside me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad form, Sophia! Standing in front of your target’s window, crying like a weakling? Did you forget everything I taught you?” Terry’s voice sounded strange, and I couldn’t see him anymore. What I was able to see was Missy, hovering in the air and grabbing at her throat. There was an odd distortion in the air beside her. “Maybe you need a reminder...motivation to be strong!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy choked, kicking something that sounded like metal, and then a man in familiar armor appeared. One arm had shattered blades coming off it, the other a control panel with a cracked display, and the whole thing looked damaged. But what really drove it home for me was what looked like nets on the body, and a helmet with dreadlock-like wires coming off of it. Was that...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It’s a Predator. Someone made armor that can turn invisible, and...god damn it, Leet...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As Terry continued to rant, Missy tapped one of her hands to her head, four fingertips pressed to the side of her thumb. Even as her face turned red, she lifted both hands and focused. A small distortion formed in the air, and Sophia broke into a run, leaping at it feet-first…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly she traveled twenty feet in an instant, both feet slamming into Terry’s head. Missy dropped to the ground, gasping and choking, while Terry stumbled backwards. Sophia rushed after her brother, with Missy following moments later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I found myself torn. On one hand, Theo was unconscious right over there, tied to a chair and with a lot of blood on him. For all I knew, Terry had broken his ribs as well as his fingers and arm, and moving him around might cause more damage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other hand, the faster we beat Terry, the faster we could get Theo the help he needed. Despite his fancy armor, Terry didn’t have a haze, so it was three parahumans versus a guy in half-busted armor. Missy was already joining the fight, so maybe I should?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>hand...what was up with all this trash?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever since Sophia and I landed in it, the trash had been swirling around. There was no wind, and as I backed up I could see it was gathering in a big pile, about thirty feet away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the pile shifted, and began to moan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pile grew arms and legs, standing over ten feet tall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mush kill!” The pile, apparently named Mush, tried to kill me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The good thing about fighting a huge monster like Mush was that he was slow as hell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because of that, I was able to use Sophia’s power to dodge through him, and keep an eye on her fight with Terry. Despite his experience, armor, strength, and camouflage, Terry actually seemed to be losing. Chris had once told me that tinkertech required regular maintenance, and my guess was that Terry had never bothered to get a tuneup. Both were taking full advantage of this, and they used hit-and-run tactics to further damage his armor and its exposed components.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Missy used her warps and shifts to keep the man off-balance, the two using a series of hand signals to communicate. Meanwhile, Sophia was using her powers in ways I never considered, shifting individual body parts to shadow in a split second for feints, dodges, and attacks. I saw Sophia swing her shadowy leg through both of Terry’s, making him block low, and thus be completely unprepared when Missy leapfrogged off her back to slam both feet into his helmet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As for me, I was struggling to come up with a plan for beating Mush. Sophia’s power was good for defense and stealth, while Missy’s was one I hadn’t really practiced. Plus, it was only a matter of time before I slipped up, or he went after Theo.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Actually, that gives me an idea. The floor is cement, and Mush has a power to...hmmm. Okay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I took one last shadow leap to get distance, turning around in mid-air, and then reached out with </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> mental hands. I knew this could work, I just had to focus!</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Theo’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>Body Projection</span>
  <em>
    <span> plus Sophia’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>Angry Cloud</span>
  <em>
    <span> plus Mush’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>Junk Armor</span>
  <em>
    <span> equals...oh cool!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Mush let out a howl of victory, his swing missing me by inches as I engaged my triple blend and fell backwards...</span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> the ground. It was like falling into a swimming pool full of pudding, and I took a deep breath before my body submerged into the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Across the room, I stood up, my head brushing the ceiling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I marveled at my stone body, slipping a bit as I noticed one of my feet was stuck to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sophia and Missy had stopped to stare at me, a twelve-foot tall golem. Terry vanished, his camouflage activating, but I knew they could handle him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I slammed my fists together, grabbing Mush’s attention in an instant. He let out a shriek, rushing at me, then going right through me as I went shadow-form. Like something out of a cartoon, the idiot slammed into the wall, half his trash falling as he was stunned by the impact.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I quickly grabbed at what I was pretty sure was his real body. Then, putting the corn-shucking moves I had learned at a Harvest Festival to good use, I began removing his trash. Once he was mostly clean (of trash), I closed my hands around him. Trapped, he shrieked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I laughed silently, and it took me a moment to realize that my new body didn’t need to breathe. That was funny for some reason. Actually, I was starting to feel kind of lightheaded...</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lightheaded? Oh yeah, I’m holding my breath down here. Better eject, quick!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I crouched the stone body so it wouldn’t fall over, pulled my real body out, and collapsed...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As an afterthought, I dropped the powers, and relief flowed through me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nobody moves.” A shadow fell over me. “Or he dies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Terry stood over me, gun pointed at my head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve had enough of this shit.” Terry’s armor was in even worse shape than before, and I could see Missy start to lift her hands. “Hey! Stop that! I’ll shoot this dumb-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I used Vista’s power to make a curved tunnel between us.” I lied, trusting my mask to hide my fear. Above, I saw something that made me smile. “You shoot me, you hit yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re bluffing.” He growled, and I just laughed, making a trash angel to cover up other trash shifting behind him. “What’s wrong with you? Were you down there so long your brain rotted?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re just such a movie villain cliche. Holding a gun to someone’s head and thinking that it’s going to work out for you. You shoot me, and even if you escape you’ll become enemy number one. Killing a kid, especially an idiot like me, even the villains will go after you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Crazy, I know. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the last few months it’s that even the bad guys have standards.” I sighed, then grinned as my soon-to-be savoir leapt and twisted into an awesome kick. “Also, that some of them are really easy to distract.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>CRACK</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Terry took a pair of feet to the head for the third time today, except this time they belonged to an adult. Terry went flying, slamming into the leg of my discarded stone body, and his helmet shattered against it. I let out a sigh of relief, glad he hadn’t heard her drop in from the skylight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for covering for me, kid.” Mouse Protector helped me up, keeping an eye on Terry until Miss Militia ran in and trained a glowing rifle on him. Sophia and Missy came in just behind her, and carefully freed Theo to lay him out on the floor. “Y’know, when you two said you were going to sneak into an R-rated movie, I thought you meant the kind on the silver screen. Not real life!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“R-rated? You told me it was-” Miss Militia cut herself off, shifting her weapon to a bigger rifle as Terry climbed to his feet. His armor looked even worse than before, and he was smiling. “We’ll talk about this later. Terry Hess, disarm yourself and lie down, hands behind your head!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Disarm? No problem.” Terry slowly reached for the arm that had the broken blades, flipping a few switches and then removing it. He did the same to his other gauntlet, but then tapped a few buttons on the control panel. “Or maybe I’ll switch to Plan B! Back off, or my bomb kills us all!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Red digits appeared on the control panel, and it began to beep. I couldn’t read the numbers, but the beeping sped up as Terry moved towards the door. The older heroes pulled us back, but Sophia slipped under Miss Militia’s arm and slammed into him with a wild tackle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have to choose, Sophia!” Terry roared, striking her with punishing blows, the bomb’s beeping getting louder and faster. Miss Militia shouted for Sophia to let him go, but she shook her head and pulled at his beeping gauntlet. “Me, or the bomb? Strength, or weakness?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I fucking choose...both!” She grunted, pulling his gauntlet off and spinning into a high kick. He caught it and swept her other leg, then delivering a kick to her ribs that lifted her off the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Terry ignored his sister’s pain, and ran out the door before anyone could stop him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia made it to her feet, the bomb in both hands, and turned back to see Miss Militia knock the table over so we could take cover beside Theo. We were shouting for her to get rid of it, to come back and join us, but it was getting faster and faster. She shook her head and ran.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We tried to get to her, but Miss Militia held Missy and I back as Mouse Protector vanished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We saw her reappear next to Sophia, trying to pull the bomb away from her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia shadowed away, then tripped and fell, curling herself around it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mouse Protector jumped over her, hugging Sophia tight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Miss Militia pulled us both down, shouting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beeping got louder...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beeping got faster...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then it all...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stopped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn it. I knew he gave that glove up too easy.” Sophia started to hit her armrest, then winced as Vera caught her arm. She had cracked ribs and hands that were in bad shape, but her painkillers and annoyance made for a bad combination. “The fucking bomb was a dud!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. While Terry may have let you take the gauntlet as a distraction...” Miss Militia held up notes Armsmaster had given her. “Once the timer hit zero, it would have overloaded the armor’s power cells and exploded. By removing the gauntlet, you actually disarmed the bomb.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whatever. He’s in the wind, everyone got hurt, I’m going to juvie, Theo…” She cut herself off, fumbling her phone and seeing no updates. “Still nothing on his surgery. I nearly got him killed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’ll be okay.” I wished I could have told her more. Lisa had texted me a few minutes ago, saying she’d gotten a special deal for Theo to get parahuman healing. She also promised the Undersiders would make Terry pay. “He’s strong. You helped make him that way, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door to Renick’s office opened and he stepped out, followed by Missy, her parents, and my parents. While the Biron family carefully hugged their daughter (broken wrist and bruised throat) before letting her sit down on Sophia’s other side, mine did the same for me. My injuries were minor, a few bruises and cuts, so I was fine after a few showers to remove the trash stench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other Wards had already left after making sure we were okay, and getting a rundown on what had happened. Dean had reacted strangely, staring silently as Vera hugged Sophia when they got to the end of the story, and I wondered what was going through his head. Maybe he’d go easier on her now, since she’d nearly killed herself (unnecessarily) trying to save us?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Speaking of being speechless, Sophia was gobsmacked a few moments later, when Renick turned and explained our punishment. Or rather, our distinct and utter lack of punishment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While I can’t say I’m pleased with certain elements of how today went, I think all three of you went above and beyond the call of duty.” Renick smiled, counting off on his fingers. “When a friend went missing, Missy called the police and told them his last known location. When you found the end of his trail, Sophia texted Miss Militia to inform her of the kidnapping. Finally, all three of you remained masked, saved a civilian, and captured a parahuman criminal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But what about Terry?” Sophia interrupted, shaking her head like this was some sort of trick. “He got away because of me! He knows who I am, and kidnapped Theo to try and get to me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, and your friend is currently in Boston, getting special medical care and PRT protection.” Renick walked back to his office, pausing at the door to smile at her. “In the future, please throw bombs out the window, instead of trying to cover them with your body. We may be heroes, but that doesn’t mean we have to make heroic sacrifices our </span>
  <em>
    <span>first </span>
  </em>
  <span>option, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door closed, and while everyone else celebrated, she remained silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, Sophia…you never got to see </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breakneck 3</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” I nudged her, noting the way she kept staring at her phone. “Theo’s not big on scary movies, so watch it without him. That way, when he gets out of his surgery and you watch it together, you’ll know all the scary parts!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, since I’m already staying over tonight, how about we go see it now? I’m sure seeing an R-rated movie with an adult is fine, right?” Missy glanced over at Miss Militia, likely remembering her earlier comments. The older hero sighed, then nodded. “Sweet!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess...” Sophia paused as she was getting up, then looked at me. “You wanna come too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents allowed it, hoping it would distract me from George, and as we walked to the car I tried to cheer Sophia up. “Hey, I heard that they were sending Mush to the Parahuman Asylum, so he can actually get a chance at a better life! Looks like we saved him, too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Sveta was right.” Sophia moaned, putting her face in her hand. “You really do have a thing for helping monsters and terrible people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I...wait...how do you know Sveta?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*******************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: The Empire Falls.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0052"><h2>52. Interlude 13: The Fall of an Empire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>*click*</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“If things go...bad, please make sure that my family gets this. I wish I could leave a message that I’m bravely charging into danger or that everything is going to go perfectly…but I’m scared.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Despite years of training and planning, I’m scared to death. Yesterday I finally told Greg that I’ve been lying to him for years. He begged me not to go, and I wish I could have stayed. But we’re doing this weeks earlier than planned, so at this point it’s all or nothing. We have to go!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Many of us might die today, and those who survive could end up on the run for the rest of our lives. After all, we’re about to go after villains in their civilian identities, and that breaks the so-called Unwritten Rules. But these nazis have been hiding behind them for years.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s why I’m doing this. Why I joined this fight. Even if we didn’t have the head of the PRT and the President of the United States giving us permission and warrants, I’d still be here.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Any moment, I’m going to get out of this van with Melody. Within minutes, we’ll be face-to-face with Kaiser. We’ll lie to him, trick him, and try to arrest him.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Meanwhile, at that exact moment, we’ll be taking down Medhall, Gesellschaft, and all of his capes. Finally making them pay…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“But it might not work out. I might die today, just like everyone else fighting by my side.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I wish I had more time. I wish this wasn’t necessary. I wish...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Mom, Dad, Greg...I wish I had said ‘I love you’ more.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“But if I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t be here.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>*click*</span>
  </em>
</p><p>**********************</p><p>
  <span>Alabaster was used to being stared at. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His skin, hair, and even eyes were the purest of white. No matter how many wounds he took, blood he spilled, or enemies he slaughtered, he remained untouched. His appearance alone made cars crash, people stop, and children point. But in this strip club, dragged along by Hookwolf and Stormtiger, he was being looked at for another reason. Jealousy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two girls at once? Why not three?” Brad shouted, waving over another busty waitress to join her two friends. Already a blonde and brunette were going to town with some strange, sensual dance in the large brute’s lap, one on each leg. He grinned despite himself, wondering where the third girl would go. “Hell, my man here can probably take on the whole wait staff!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not all of them, some aren’t worth his time.” Derek growled, pointing at two waitresses he’d seen acting a little too friendly with each other and flipping them off. The owner of this place knew that Brad and Derek always dropped by around this time, and it insulted the man who normally wore the mask of Stormtiger. “The standards around this place have really dropped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My deepest apologies, gentlemen!” A rotund man with greasy hair and far too many rings stumbled out from a side room and bowed before the three E88 parahumans. Though they were in civilian clothes, their identities were an open secret in this establishment, especially after Brad and Derek had used the back rooms to do some roleplaying...in costume. “Perhaps I can offer you a chance to sample our fresh hires? Straight from Germany, and...well-trained.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moments later, all three were following the lumpy man into a side room with grins on their faces. It was dim inside, but they could see several shapely forms waiting for them on a bed in the shape of a heart. The door shut behind them, and the light flipped on to reveal...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey boys, I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time...” A masked man in a blue costume sat there, surrounded by blow-up dolls. For a moment, Alabaster was annoyed that the owner had stuck them in a room with some roleplaying cape perv. Then the Strider cosplayer rose to his feet, took a step towards the three of them, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Alabaster thought for a moment that the freak had taken a picture of them, the light was suddenly so bright. But after a few seconds of blinking he realized that the lights were brighter because they were no longer in a dark strip club.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All around the four of them-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>All around the </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> of them were the cement walls, floor, and ceiling of a huge warehouse-like area. There were no doors or windows. Brad and Derek immediately began to attack the walls, but they barely left a scratch. In fact, aside from a dent, the walls appeared untouched...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then a voice interrupted them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm, what’s that noise?” A projector popped out of the ceiling, displaying an image on all four walls. On it was a man in a green lab coat, his face far too close to the camera. He grinned, seeing the three nazi parahumans. “Ah, look at that Frank, some rats snuck into our spare testing room. They certainly seem angry, but my ability to care is at an all-time low.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know the feeling, Doctor Forrester.” The camera pulled back to display a man in a black clothing, sitting on a couch with a janitor in a red jumpsuit. “The Birdcage transport for Hookwolf is already on the way. In the meantime, I guess we’ll just have to put up with them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we can’t just leave them there, they might get bored.” The janitor piped up, grinning and holding up a bucket of popcorn. “Hey, how about we show them those crappy movies from the psychological study that got rejected last year? Seeing nazis suffer will sure entertain me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful idea, Joel! Technically, this isn’t torture...just a special kind of </span>
  <em>
    <span>deep hurting</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Forrester laughed as all three fought harder. “Let’s start with...</span>
  <em>
    <span>Manos, the Hands of Fate</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The microphones in that test room have been turned off, so you can stop shouting threats. Just sit back, watch the movies, and know that even now our friends are destroying your gang.” Frank said, an uncharacteristic frown on his face. “We can’t hear you, we don’t care what you have to say, and soon...nobody will. Any power you had is long gone. Your time is over.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well said, old friend.” Forrester turned to his assistant and smiled, “Push the button, Frank.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All three nazis switched from threats to pleading, and Joel munched popcorn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was nice to see a movie with a happy ending for once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jessica stretched and sighed, feeling the luxurious sheets run over her body. The past several months had been like a vacation compared to her time in Brockton Bay. Out there, every day was like traveling through a sewer to get from battle to battle. Some fights were in the streets as Fenja, others were putting up with the numbskulls who worked for Max, and still more were with her own sister to determine who got Max’s bed that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But here in Boston? She lived in a penthouse, wanted for nothing, trained with Max’s new foot soldiers only when she couldn’t get her sister to take a turn, and slept beside her man every night. Sure, she had to share the bed with Nessa, but that wasn’t so bad. Even now, she saw that Nessa was still exhausted from last night, and gently flung the blanket over her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing at a nearby clock, she realized that the strapping young boytoy who always brought their food was due to arrive any moment. With Max gone until the evening, Jessica wrapped a sheet around her naked form, letting it trail behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening the door, she could already smell the late lunch...but was confused to see that young Peter was strangely absent. Stepping out into the hallway, she looked around, wondering if he was playing some sort of joke on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt something brush against the nape of her neck, and whirled around in time to see a strange orange tentacle brush by her blonde tresses. Jessica stumbled backwards, starting to look up, but tripped over something and fell to the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dizzy, she saw an arm sticking out of the cart, and moved the curtain on its side aside to behold the unconscious form of Peter. He was smiling, drooling slightly, and asleep. The two E88 bodyguards Max had left at her door were also on the floor, sleeping quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt something drip onto her face and looked up, her head already swimming with the motion. There was someone clinging to the ceiling, looking down at her, with an orange...tail? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It fell towards her in a blur, and a hand pressed over her mouth. She started to let out a muffled scream, but after only a moment it tapered off into a low moan. Her eyes rolled up into her head, and she had a wonderful dream about an orange Max. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nessa didn’t even wake up, courtesy of an orange hand that cupped her cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After clearing the floor, Newter called up the PRT agents to collect the sleeping amazons. He took the elevator back down, planning to brag to the rest of the Crew about his awesome solo mission. The elevator doors opened and…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched as Faultline, Gregor, Spitfire, and the others mopped up the last few E88 goons Kaiser had filled the hotel with. Fire to the left of him, men stuck to the ceiling, and a huge column having fallen across the lobby floor...he swallowed nervously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it hadn’t been a solo mission after all?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kayden was sleeping in, last night’s “errand” and the meal that followed it having put her out. She hadn’t heard Aster crying, so Dorothy was probably taking care of her. Any moment, the PRT would be calling for their normal check-in, as per the deal she’d made months ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They gave her money, delivered food from the finest restaurant in town, and promised a fresh start for Kayden, Aster, Night, and Fog. In exchange, all she had to do was make a few changes. Report on Kaiser’s activities, limit her work for him to surveillance, and only patrol in neighborhoods </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> chose. Night and Fog signed on as well, following her lead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first it had rankled her that the most violent areas of town were off-limits, and her power use was limited to flying, patrols, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>self defense</span>
  </em>
  <span>. How often was Purity, the most powerful hero in Brockton Bay, going to have someone actually threaten her? Then Theo ran away from home, and her job got even more boring, which made Kayden think she’d been tricked by the PRT.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the days turned into weeks, her power began to bubble inside her. Why was the PRT only giving a hero like her neighborhoods full of upstanding citizens? After a particularly boring patrol a week ago, she’d gone to a bar in one of the neighborhoods she used to patrol. A few drinks later, forced to ignore the car alarms and violent thugs around her, she went home and...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone tried to mug her. Given his skin tone, he probably meant to rape her as well, and she panicked. Next thing she knew, Kayden was standing over his smoking body in a dark alley, a feeling of relief flowing through her. It felt so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to finally let loose...and then Kayden had an amazing realization. That had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>self-defense with her powers</span>
  </em>
  <span>!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She told Geoff and Dorothy, and all week they’d been going out on “errands” to the most dangerous parts of town. Sometimes it took a bit of encouragement, or a brief foot chase, but every day they were taking criminals and rapists off the streets. Best of all, they ended each night by coming home and celebrating with fancy food delivered by the PRT.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>RING</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She grinned, answered the phone, and began to explain her latest act of self-defense, when... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nope, you’re all out of quarters.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The PRT agent sighed. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>The bugs I put in your clothes recorded you last week explaining the plan to Night and Fog. I have you on tape threatening people and ignoring their cries for mercy. Last night, one of my drones followed you as you three nearly killed some homeless men. Deal broken. You get the Bad Ending, Kayden.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In an instant Kayden’s power bloomed around her, and she rushed for the hallway. She had to-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Purity slammed into a concrete wall where her hallway was supposed to be, and crashed to the ground. She rolled to her feet, barely feeling it, and lashed out with a bolt of power. “Night! Fog!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Night and Fog? Nah, I already took care of them before we moved you.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” The same voice from the phone was above her now, so Purity destroyed the ceiling. Above her was a cracked glass ceiling, and above that was...water? “</span>
  <em>
    <span>That food last night contained a drug Panacea made. Put all three of you right out. Night’s still sleeping, but I had to deal with Fog personally.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do to him?” She fired at the wall, blowing away drywall to reveal glowing cement. Meanwhile, the crack in the ceiling grew as water leaked into the room. “Where am I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I took care of Fog with the </span>
  </em>
  <span>Poltergust 3000</span>
  <em>
    <span> from </span>
  </em>
  <span>Luigi’s Mansion</span>
  <em>
    <span>, after some tweaks from Dragon.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Looking around, she could see that this was a replica of her room, like a movie set. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>As for you, you’re under a lake right now, so maybe power down before you drown? Our tinkertech is keeping the walls secure, but even Tecton can only reinforce glass so much...</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Growling, she obeyed. A monitor slid out of the wall, revealing someone behind a computer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We had a deal, and this is kidnapping! Just because I used to be a criminal, you can’t treat me like some common thug. I’m a hero now!” She felt tears prick at her eyes as he laughed. “Shut up! You have no idea how hard it is, everyone treating me like shit because of who I used to be!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Who you used to be? Seriously? You kept calling yourself Purity, kept attacking minorities, never came to the PRT despite staying in Brockton Bay, kept helping Kaiser...”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was trying to support my daughter! I had to make sacrifices, but what would you know-”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You think I don’t know about sacrifices, or how much consequences suck? Lady, I wrote the book on that shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” His voice turned cold, cutting her off, and he began to rant. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I was a villain, an asshole, a troll, and so much more. I inspired other people to be just as bad, pretending that I was some kind of artist! Then I nearly died, nearly lost my best friend to get some views, and realized I’d been ignoring all my doom flags. The PRT gave me an extra life, and I took it.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, I know you…” All the stupid game references, that voice, he was... “Leet! What are-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No, not anymore. I called myself that because I thought I was the best, but this takedown? It came from Tecton, Panacea, Fuse, Armsmaster, Dragon, and me...all working together.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” A door opened in the wall, and PRT officers entered alongside a man in a dress uniform with papers. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I could have just quit, but I wanted to keep going. To try again. To win, alongside my friends.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good work, Continue. We’ll take it from here.” The man with the papers glared at her. “Kayden, my name is Nutcracker. You say you care about Aster? That everything you’ve done is for her?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yes...yes!” The PRT had foam, so she decided to bide her time. “Where is she?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Far from Brockton Bay, with a loving adoptive family.” Nutcracker continued speaking even as Kayden tried to interrupt, and held out the papers. “You wanted a new life? Either join Night and Fog in the Birdcage, or sign this contract. You will travel the country, fighting alongside other so-called former criminals, as part of a special Squad-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Aster? She needs her mother!” Kayden’s hand glowed, but a PRT officer quickly sprayed it with foam. She started to panic, shrieking, “Please, give my baby back!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By the time you’ve paid back your debt to society, she’ll be old enough to decide for herself if she wants to see you. Now, either power down and sign, or...what’s the phrase, Continue?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Game over.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again, I’m sorry that we came all the way out to Boston, but George insisted.” Melody rolled her eyes, ignoring the goofy smile on her boyfriend’s face as he shuffled in place. “He said he had something urgent to show you, and needed your approval. So I came along, since there was no other way to get past all your security.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, Melody.” Max nodded, his face blank despite the sense of worry that hovered at the edge of his mind. Something had felt off about this whole day, and having these two show up and request a meeting alone in his office had only added to it. “George, how can I help you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, I just want to start by apologizing again, Veders kind of have a habit of overdoing things.” The man handed over a folder, hands shaking slightly as he put himself between Melody and the folder. She took the hint and moved away, pulling out her phone and fiddling with it as her boyfriend leaned forward to whisper. “Melody doesn’t really have any family, but she told me that she kind of sees you as being like a...father figure to her. So I was wondering…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max opened the folder, and saw several pictures of wedding cakes, dresses, and a hand-written letter. A smile split his face as he reached for the letter, the sense of danger fading as-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His phone buzzed twice, and he put the folder down to glance at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>Victor:</b>
  <span> PRT hit Medhall and our safehouses. Hookwolf, Alabaster, and others vanished. Taking Othala and Rune to Location C9. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>Coil:</b>
  <span> Since you refused to pay for my help, here’s a late freebie. Those PRT spies you ran to Boston to hide from? Veder and Cricket. Enjoy the Birdcage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max made a mental note to pay Coil back in blood for the insult. But first...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t help with a wedding, George.” Metal shrieked as it grew over Max, the armored form of Kaiser being one that he had no reason to hide from them. “But I’ll gladly help with your funeral. After that, I’ll make sure your family pays for your-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door blasted off its hinges, and all hell broke loose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite her past experiences, Melody had been hoping to get this done without any violence. The letter George had handed Max had been dusted with a powdered sedative, and would have weakened him. Still, that was why you had a Plan B, because Plan A was usually crap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even as the door hit the ground, George was already diving in the opposite direction from Melody. He flipped the small table there and took cover as two people in fatigues rushed into the room, smoke and the fallen forms of E88 bodyguards behind them. One tossed a gun to George and took cover alongside him, the other three spreading out and shouting at Max.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The shrieking sound of metal on metal made her skin crawl, but Max taking time to cover himself in armor had given them all time to get in position. Melody just took out the twin carbon fiber knives she’d snuck past security, hucking one at Kaiser to get his attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he started to attack her, and there was no more time to think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dodged his weapons easily, having fought by his side long enough to know his moves even without vibrations in the air warning her. He created blades, threw and swung them, and placed them in her path. All the while, George and the others were shooting at Max, non-lethal rounds barely bruising him through his armor, making more noise than anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the E88 leader seemed to catch onto the fact that they were just delaying him, right around the same time Melody realized she’d slipped up. He had trapped her in a web of blades, and the light armor she wore prevented her from slipping through. Kaiser tried to run, but a soldier stepped into his path and took his blade without so much as a drop of blood spilled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, didn’t expect that, did ya?” The soldier slammed the butt of her gun into Max’s helmet, the man’s sword doing little more than bruising her ribs. “With your blade fetish, we’ve all got stab vests. Guess your little sword can’t cut it, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vests. Smart.” Melody grimaced as Kaiser adjusted his stance and his sword’s edge seemed to change slightly. “Thanks for telling me where </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> to aim.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His second swing took the woman’s arm off, and she fell with a strangled shout. Before the other soldier could react, Kaiser had sliced through the man’s legs at the knees. Kind, stupid, medically-minded George tried to pull the injured man to cover, but only narrowly dodged back as the sword went for him next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kaiser’s second swing missed as well, Melody’s thrown knife taking him in the back of his leg where his armor wasn’t fully formed. Despite that, he remained focused on George, even as she screamed insults at him and struggled to get free. He growled, swinging for George’s throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only thanks to his training that George was able to partially deflect the third swing with his gun, diverting it to the side of his head rather than his throat. He let out a strangled cry and fell to his knees, hand and head filled with searing pain. George refused to look away as Kaiser’s arms went back for one final swing, then smiled as he saw his partner had come to his rescue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Covered in cuts, her bulky armor abandoned, Melody grabbed Kaiser’s arms just before the cape started to swing his blade forward. Taking advantage of his weight and lack of balance, she wrenched him backwards hard enough that he rolled into his heavy wooden desk. The nazi was forced to take cover behind said desk as the woman he’d disarmed opened fire on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A voice in her ear told Melody that reinforcements had met heavy resistance, and she knew that she only had moments before the one-armed gunner ran out of bullets. She grabbed a patch from her medical kit and slapped it over the mess that used to be George’s ear, then sprayed the remains of his hand liberally with something foamy and numbing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing his grateful smile, she wanted to say something badass...but then felt the vibrations in the air. Kaiser was stumbling towards the door, the wound in his leg leaking blood and slowing him down. Despite George reaching for her, Melody moved to intercept him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew what he would do if he got away. Knew about all the secret tunnels and escape hatches in this building. Knew that it would be her fault, for failing to rise to the challenge. So she dashed in front of the open door, hoping she could buy some time for-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sword stabbed between her ribs, but she had angled herself so the blade would exit...there!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed against her, but his blade had gotten stuck in the metal doorframe. Melody ignored the pain, ignored the sword, ignored that stupid precog’s prediction, and ignored her fear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She ignored all of that, grabbed onto his armor, focused on her power, took a deep breath…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>screamed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George reflected that if Kaiser hadn’t chopped one of his ears off, this would hurt twice as much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even now, the armored nazi was holding his metal-helmeted head with both gauntleted hands and writhing. Unable to pull away from Melody’s deathgrip, the man finally tore off his helmet with one hand and made a crude knife in the other, smashing and stabbing her wildly. George could see the older man’s ears and nose leaking blood, his mouth open in a silent scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Melody wouldn’t let go, directing the full force of her voice at him. It wasn’t a method she normally used, preferring echolocation and causing confusion instead. But she’d learned over the years that if she focused, and pushed herself, she could really make some noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Max managed to pull free, falling to the ground and putting both hands over his ears. He gurgled, struggled, and wept as his destroyed senses wreaked havoc on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George was on his feet in seconds, barely pausing to kick Max’s head like a nazi football, then continuing to Melody. Behind him, George could barely hear their reinforcements </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>arriving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Melody! Hey! Someone get a medic in here!” George wasn’t sure where to put his hands (well, hand, now), Melody’s body was a mess. The sword was still in her, she was leaning back against the doorframe, and there was so much blood... “Hang on. You’re going to be okay!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No I’m not.” Melody gasped, teeth red and eyes unfocused. She winced as he put pressure on her wounds. “George, stop. We both knew this was coming. That he’d kill me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t kill you, though.” George argued, interrupting. “You’re still talking. I work in medical implants, it’ll be okay. You just need some new organs, fresh blood. We c-can go together, get me a new hand and a new ear. J-just...wait...what the hell do you mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>we both knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Precog.” Melody held up four fingers, wincing. “Your precog said I’d die in four years, by Max’s hand. That was four years ago. Guess I sh-shouldn’t have taken off my stab vest, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop it! This isn’t a joke, Mel. You’re not...” George wanted to shake her, but she wouldn’t stop smiling. Wouldn’t stop bleeding. Wouldn’t stop… “Dying. You’re dying. You fucking idiot! Why did you throw yourself at him without weapons? We could have regrouped, caught up to him!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! He’d have-” Melody broke off, coughing up blood. “-gone after your family. Even after what I did, they still...tried to pretend. Like I was normal. But I’m a monster. A coward. Threw myself at...a worse monster. Didn’t wanna...die in prison. It hurt...but I tried to...tried to stop...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I saw you try. You saved everyone.” He held Melody, as she wheezed and choked. “You saved me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, dumbass.” She whispered, coughing. “You were the b-best part...of trying...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty good last words, Mel.” He felt her go limp. “Eight out of ten, easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like you...could do...any...better? Fine, what should...I...say...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George started to respond, but she was already gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a secure building in Germany, a group of elderly men and women sat around a table in an opulent room, watching monitors. The news was breaking in America that the Empire 88 and Medhall had been connected, and hundreds of arrests were being made. Money was being traced to international criminal organizations. The work of decades, gone in days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Max Anders has fallen.” The man at the head of the table pressed a button, muting all the screens and freezing them. Ignoring the babbling of his underlings, the leader of Gesellschaft raised his voice. “We have been brought low before, but this is only a minor inconvenience. A trifle. Nothing can destroy us. We are eternal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All at the table began to cheer, pump their fists, and nod in agreement. In this room were some of the richest and most powerful people in Germany, as well as capes like the world had never seen. The parahumans had been developed to be unflinchingly loyal to their masters, and would rain destruction upon the PRT. They all began to relax, knowing the future was theirs...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One parahuman felt his chest swell with pride, and not just because of his leader’s speech. This man was Krieg, formerly of the E88 before Max Anders had attempted to poison him months back. He would return to America, to gather the remnants of the E88, and nothing would stand in their way! He felt lightheaded, he was so happy! He yawned, sleepy...for some reason...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just outside that room, pressed against the walls, a dozen men and women waited for a signal. All wore tinkertech camo that let them to blend in with their surroundings, and they were just waiting for the gas being piped into the conference room to reach a certain level of thickness. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of them sighed, and another whispered to him. “Hey. What’s da matter wit’ ya?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just realized that when we get home, I need to change my name.” Uber whispered back, grimacing at a piece of art on the wall across from him. “All this time, I thought my name meant that I was better, stronger, and smarter...but after this mission? I can’t use it anymore.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I get it, and don’t worry. I know dat you’re nothing like these scumbags.” A heavy metal hand patted Uber on the shoulder, and the former villain felt his spirits lift. “Leet became Continue, and if he can rename himself, anyone can. Maybe you’ll even get a great name like me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Laughing quietly at Gun Guy’s bravado, Uber joined the Meisters as they kicked in the door and charged into battle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he punched a nazi in the face, the former villain finally felt like a hero.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max woke to a slap, and was annoyed that he couldn’t strike them back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking around, he could see that he was in a concrete cell of some kind, a pair of cameras in the corners with blinking lights. The door was a heavy steel affair, much like the shackles binding his arms and legs to his rather uncomfortable metal chair.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he saw his captors, and smiled. One of them was covered in bandages and dried blood, having been relieved of an ear and a few fingers. Still, couldn’t hurt to twist the knife...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, George Veder, as I live and breathe.” He ignored the man beside George, keeping his tone nonchalant despite his situation. “Speaking of living and breathing, how is dear Melody?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George reared back to strike Max again, but stopped as his apparent boss ordered him to leave. The door opened, letting noise inside, then closed and returned them to total silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I need to tell you how much trouble you’re in, Max.” The remaining man wore a PRT dress uniform, several ribbons declaring him as accomplished by someone’s metric. “Medhall, white supremacy, the Empire 88, all your crimes as Kaiser...quite a list.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A list that I’m certain my lawyers will whittle down quite a bit, given that you unmasked and attacked me. I’m sure my Medhall employees and business contacts will also frown upon this farce.” Max had various contingencies in place, and was certain that his lawyers were already en route. His remaining parahumans were plotting his rescue. His money was paying off judges. “I’ll see my lawyer now, and you can remove these ridiculous shackles as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lawyer?” The PRT stooge smiled, walking away. “Funny, no lawyer has shown up yet. As for the rest, your grunts in Boston and Brockton Bay have been surrendering by the dozens since we closed Medhall and arrested their leaders. You’re up shit...hold on...what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max paused as the man put a finger to his ear, wondering what he was up to now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, he says his name is what? And he checks out?” The man growled, shaking his head and frowning. He glanced back at Max, stared for a few moments, then sighed. “Fine, turn the cameras off in here. We can’t watch or listen to this, legally.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Moments later, Max was alone in the room with his son, Theo. The door was closed, the cameras were off, and Theo was nervously shuffling as he poked his fingers together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“F-father? W-what happened?” Theo whispered, his eyes locked on Max’s knees, body quivering as he stepped closer. Tears pricked at his eyes as he began to babble, his voice cracking as he blubbered at Max. “Y-you were right, father. The way they treated me when I came, they acted like I was a m-monster. I’m s-sorry I didn’t listen, sir. I’m so s-scared...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It appeared that the last few months had done nothing to help the boy’s confidence, weight, or sense of self. He still draped himself in heavy clothing, feared eye contact, and was a quivering lump of useless flesh. He’d gotten his little rebellion over with, and was ready to </span>
  <em>
    <span>serve</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perfect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I admit things may look dire, Theo, but all is well.” Max projected bravado he hadn’t actually started feeling until just this moment. Max always had a plan, after all. “Come closer my boy, it’s time for you to do your part. I shall give you power, through purpose. Listen carefully…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite all his other failings, Theo had an excellent memory, and now that would finally serve a purpose. Over the course of several minutes, Max gave the boy a PO Box to visit, a phone number to call, and an address where Victor had fled. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The PO Box was in both their names, and held hundreds of thousands of dollars. The phone number was for Victor, a signal to gather allies to the safehouse. Finally, the address was where Victor had taken Rune and Othala, as well as being where he’d left guns and a suitcase with a vial in it. From there, the remnants of the E88 would gather, make a plan, and rescue Max.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With confidence in his eyes, Max swore to Theo that this was the boy’s destiny. The idiot nodded nervously at his father, gave a weak little smile, and then knocked on the door to be let out. Now all Max had to do was wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two hours later, Theo returned...but this wasn’t the same Theo as before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Theo stepped into the cell, he took a moment to remove his sweatshirt. He smiled slightly as he saw Max’s eyes lock onto his muscles, and approached with strong purposeful strides.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you doing back here, boy?” Max barked, voice pitched just so to drive the child to his knees. When Theo didn’t fall, he became more conversational. “Have you come to wait by my side, standing alongside me rather than in my shadow? Perhaps you seek wisdom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, just wanted to watch you squirm one last time. It was part of my deal with the PRT. They got some goat guy to heal me, and offered me the chance to help take you down for good.” Theo shrugged, eyes wandering around the cell as if he were talking about the weather. “They emptied out that PO Box, cleared out your safehouse, and nabbed Victor and Othala. I even got to punch Rune out, when she ran. Sorry old man, but it looks like your empire has fallen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha! You think that was the only plan I had in mind? Fool!” Max blustered, then gritted his teeth as Theo once again failed to react. Finally, he settled on the very words that had driven Theo to tears months ago. “Besides, my greatest plan is already in motion. My blood runs through your veins, your destiny runs parallel to my own. No matter what you do or say, no matter how many of my plans you attempt to overcome, the PRT will always see you as a monster. A devil who-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit.” Theo spat the word, and for the first time in his life...Theo let Max see his anger. It silenced him, and Theo took advantage of it. “I make my own destiny. I’m going to fix everything you broke, even if I have to spend the rest of my life being hated by the world. I can never make up for all the evil I condemned, all the terror I failed to stop...but I’m damn sure going to try.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine words, but we both know that they’re little more than words.” Max scoffed, straining against his shackles as he leaned forward. “You are weak. Directionless. Powerless. Even if you spend your whole life trying to overcome my legacy, I know that your children will spend their lives rebuilding it. Like I said, it’s in your blood.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Funny thing about blood. You can spill it to hurt people, but you can also donate it to save them.” Theo grinned as Max rolled his eyes. “Yeah, imagine how I felt every time you used to spout pseudo-philosophical bullshit at me. How’s it feel to be on the receiving end for once?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max ignored him, and Theo finally laughed. </span>
</p><p>“I had this whole big speech planned, but in the end...you’re not worth it. To think, I used to be afraid of you...and when I was a kid I kind of looked up to you.” Theo moved to his father’s side, crouching in front of him and looking up at the man. “But I want you to know, while you’re gone I’m going to destroy everything you ever created.”</p><p>
  <span>“Pointless promises from a weak, powerless child.” Max stared at the boy, his face a mask of stone. “Begone, Theodore. You have outlived your usefulness...assuming you ever had any.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, that’s just like you, Max. You can only destroy, after all.” Theo held up a hand, and then before Max’s eyes he jammed it </span>
  <em>
    <span>into</span>
  </em>
  <span> the metal chair. A metallic hand appeared just over Max’s shoulder, then grabbed him by the chin, covering his mouth and nose. “But me? I can build. I can create.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Max let out a muffled grunt, his lungs starving as he struggled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to build a new world for people of all races, colors, beliefs, and bodies. I’m going to do what you failed to accomplish, and truly change the world. To make a world for everyone.” Theo pulled the hand back, merging it into the chair again, and Max gasped. “I don’t even care that you know I have powers, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>you don’t matter anymore.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy who used to be Max’s son stood and stretched, then began to walk away. He kept talking, ignoring the man’s sputtering. “You’re going to sit in the Birdcage, watching me succeed where you failed. Knowing that your legacy of hatred dies with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo stopped at the door, pausing to look back at Max one last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who’s powerless now?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***************************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Now that the E88’s gone, everything’s great, right? Nope! </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0053"><h2>53. 3.10: Learning to Be a Team</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: This chapter was a personal lesson in the weakness of a first-person perspective. I wish I had time to turn some of it into an Interlude, to expand/show things from E88, ABB, PRT, and other viewpoints, as well as the Brockton Bay citizens. There’s more telling than showing in parts, because our POV character (Greg) is kept safe and therefore doesn’t see it firsthand. </p><p>I’m releasing it because I love most of the chapter, but acknowledge it could be better. I also freely admit that it feels like things move too fast, and that there’s too much going on in one chapter. I wish I had time to make this better, to split it up, and to rewrite...but I don’t right now.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Sunday, March 20, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I ended up sleeping through the Empire 88 takedown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d spent Saturday night on Sophia’s couch, exhausted after the whole kidnapping, fighting, near-death experience, and of course seeing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Breakneck 3: Beyond Murderdome.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I woke up Sunday to Hannah arguing with Missy about how unrealistic the movie had been. Elsewhere, I heard Sophia on the phone with Theo...loudly apologizing despite his best efforts to forgive her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Vera turned on the TV to drown them out, but…</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-PRT representatives saying that members of the E88 joined them in taking down the leaders-</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-Purity said I was young...still had my whole life ahead of me, and I never liked being Rune-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-I told Fenja that Kaiser had taken my baby daughter from me...excuse me, I need a moment-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-had no idea Medhall was a part of that, but when I checked their finances I realized white-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-Kaiser killed Cricket, and she was like a sister to me, in the pit. I hated to fight Hookwolf-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-as Chief Director of the PRT, I couldn’t risk them doing more damage, so we joined Purity in-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-so now I’m no longer Purity. We’re no longer E88. But we have so much to make up for-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-story out of Germany, as Vornehm of the Meisters says that they found nuclear material-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-they had plans to wipe Israel off the map, and as a proud German hero I couldn’t let them-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-had we waited then Gesellschaft might have hurt people. As Prime Minister I couldn’t let-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>On every station were the stories George and the PRT had written ahead of time. Former E88 capes had been pressed into recording interviews, and that added to the realism of it. The way they spun the narrative, Kaiser had kidnapped Purity’s daughter. She’d gone to the PRT after convincing Rune, Cricket, Stormtiger, and others to join her against Kaiser and his loyalists. Now they were all surrendering to the PRT, to spend years making up for their many crimes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Germany was saying they’d stopped the E88’s backers from sending nukes to blow up Israel. They had documents, testimony, informants, and it laid bare the connections between E88, Medhall, and nazis. People were so busy thanking the valiant heroes for striking a huge blow against white supremacy, they barely thought to question how it had all gone so perfectly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The PRT had known that there would be all kinds of theories on PHO, and among both the cape and civilian communities. But all the arguments about unwritten rules and use of force would be drowned out by the mass celebrations. Every Thinker, reporter, or leaker who knew the Truth would have to decide between fighting for the rights of nazi murderers who regularly broke the unwritten rules, or just taking this as a net positive. Within a few weeks, it would be the truth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It certainly worked on our sample group. Vera and Hannah thought this was great news, Sophia was actually smiling, and Missy worried about Purity’s baby having to grow up with a mother like that. We were still talking about it as we all got into the car to head to the PRT...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then we saw that not everything was sunshine and roses. Emergency vehicles everywhere, clouds of black smoke in the air, distant shouts and explosions...something had gone horribly wrong. Even at the PRT, it was like World War 3, and I ran for the locker rooms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t think I’d ever put my costume on so fast before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Soon we were gathered in a huge meeting of all the hero capes in town. Director Piggot and Deputy Director Renick were presiding, and screens displayed the faces of city representatives, the Youth Guard, and more. Piggot raised a hand, and then started to explain the situation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the PRT prepping extra police, supplies, and emergency workers for the inevitable chaos...they’d still fallen short. With the E88’s leadership and capes gone, their members were rioting...on top of every other criminal in town popping up to take advantage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ABB had started hitting old Empire bases, grabbing weapons and drugs, eating up territory and fighting any who stood against them. Some out-of-town villains called The Travelers had popped up, potentially working in concert with Coil and his well-armed soldiers. Meanwhile, the Undersiders had been robbing Lung’s smaller bases as he was forced to spread his forces thin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Terry’s mercenaries had been spotted, their boss wearing what was left of his armor, calling themselves The Predators. Rather than attacking they were actually defending, because a gang I’d never heard of was coming after them. A small-time gang called The Merchants, previously thought to be a bunch of junkies led by a cape called Skidmark, had it out for Terry and his men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even after a few hours, things were bad. A PRT informant claimed that Coil had made a pre-emptive attack on the Merchants. Trying to counterattack, Skidmark pulled five previously unknown capes out of nowhere...but their control over their powers was crap. One had accidentally killed a Merchant cape called Trainwreck, and another blew up part of Winslow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No kids were hurt, but the Mayor closed down all schools for the time being, just in case. I let out a sigh of relief at that, knowing that at least Taylor and Allen would be safe, but this wasn’t a permanent solution. The PRT was already scrambling to get people to safety, and the whole city was like a powderkeg that was already on fire. What the hell could I, a teen cape, do to help?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently the PRT had the same thought, finally granting the Youth Guard’s wish...temporarily taking the Wards off the streets. Since we couldn’t patrol, we were going to get special training opportunities, as well as learning from Wards from other towns. Strider was already going to be bringing in extra heroes, after all. Plus, there was one other, special change being made...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a good thing Panacea had healed us when we came in, because when Renick said they were temporarily reinstating Shadow Stalker I think Vista nearly broke her ribs hugging her. It wasn’t exactly a full pardon or anything, she was just being changed from </span>
  <em>
    <span>special</span>
  </em>
  <span> probation to </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> probation. She still had a pile of community service and therapy in her future.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>People were getting injured, killed, and triggered, including the E88. Their leaders had vanished, people were coming for their blood, and we’d already had sightings of a new cape with swastika tattoos and electricity powers. He was calling himself Lichtenberg, and I was afraid what would happen if he gathered more nazi capes...or if more criminals like him triggered...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But we were all equally scared and determined, and I knew we were stronger for it. All of our bickering and disagreements could be put aside, because our city needed us more than ever!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With all of us working together, nothing could stand in our way!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Monday, March 21, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>We only made it an hour into training before everything screeched to a halt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had started so well, with Strider bringing Weld and Hunch from the Boston Wards to train with us. We were all costumed up in the PRT gym, and had spent a few minutes talking about little things as we waited. Hunch made a few puns, Weld talked about a cooking class he was taking, I’d just seen a really awesome movie (can’t wait for the sequel), and so on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armsmaster came in, we were put in groups of three, and gathered around a large taped circle in the center of the room so he could explain the exercise. One Ward would stand in the middle with three flags on their body (bicep, waist, and thigh) while two others ‘fought’ them. Anyone who left the circle was out, and the solo Ward had to defend their flags for one minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The training went well at first, especially since after each match we’d talk about what we learned. Aegis beat Clockblocker and Kid Win, teaching them about their mobility problems (especially once Chris lost his hoverboard). Meanwhile, Vista and Hunch beat me easily and taught me about my inexperience with ranged attacks (or precogs with guns).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then came the third group, Gallant and Shadow Stalker versus Weld.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that either of them did a bad job, but the way they kept arguing was...worrisome. First match they failed to get his flags (makes sense, he was the one who created the exercise), and they blamed each other. Then on the second match they succeeded, but kept trying to take the blame for not doing it faster. In the third match they didn’t even start, because Armsmaster had to separate them, and by then Missy was taking Sophia’s side and Aegis took Dean’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honestly, it was hard to tell just what the heck they were even arguing about. Shadow Stalker kept apologizing to Gallant for what Terry did to him and he kept saying she wasn’t treating herself like a hero. What the hell did all that even mean?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Skidmark’s Tinker girlfriend broke out of prison, so Armsmaster had to run off to chase her down. He directed us to return to the Common Room for now, and wait for further orders. The others went ahead, and I was left to lead our two guests. Strider and Miss Militia were talking in the hallway, and I had no words for them as they directed mystified looks my way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We arrived just as Shadow Stalker and Vista were heading back out, the sound of Gallant and Clockblocker shouting at each other down the hall. Aegis and Kid Win were nowhere to be seen, leaving the five of us standing awkwardly in the doorway blocking each other’s path.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, um...if you guys aren’t doing anything.” I held up a hand, smiling and praying that they agreed to go along with this. “I have a way to cheer us all up...and one other person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, they all agreed, and minutes later we were off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry this took so long, I’ve just had a lot going on...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I understand. You were busy being a hero. I’m so proud of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too.” I smiled, glad I’d chosen a mask that let her see it. “Thanks for being patient, Sveta.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was kind of glad she’d never tried to describe herself, because this person before me was so unique. She was a face, suspended in a writhing mass of finger-thin tendrils, a cute little C-shaped tattoo on her cheek. Despite her smile, the scratches on the glass dividing the room and marks on the pole she was wrapped around told me how stressed she was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But eventually she nodded at me and settled down, and I finally removed my mask. I’d sent her a picture of myself weeks ago, and promised that I’d find a way to visit. Now, as I gently placed my palm on the glass between us, a quintet of tentacles spread out mirroring my fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry...” She sniffled, black tears leaking out of her eyes. “I’m just really happy. Tears of joy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, save some tears for the others, because I didn’t come alone.” I pulled some paper out of my pocket, pressing it up against the glass so she could read four names on it. “See, Strider’s power is actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mass Teleportation</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Don’t feel pressured, but if you’re up to seeing them-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, you brought...” Her eyes bugged out, and she practically danced in place. “Yes! Please!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I pulled my mask back on and knocked at the door, letting in two guests. There was a limit of three people per visit, but from how Sveta reacted you’d never have thought it was an issue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sveta was over the moon to meet Weld and Hunch.  She had a hundred questions, and they traded PHO usernames. She seemed to know more about their exploits than them, talking a mile a minute. Both were puffing out their chests at the praise, and even had advice for her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For instance, she was always finding it hard to hold her strength back, something Weld admitted he was familiar with. He suggested several of his own mental and physical exercises, even demonstrating right there. I saw Sveta drinking in his every word and nodding, staring at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, that or she has a crush on him. Eh, I can see it...they’re both awesome people. I ship it.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Once we were halfway through visiting hours, I let her say goodbye to the two of them. Both promised to send her action figures, and she promised to send Weld links to some art she’d commissioned of him. They headed to a different part of the Asylum to meet other patients, and I let the other two I’d brought in to replace them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shadow Stalker! I heard you had a rough day.” Sveta waved a tentacle, ignoring the way the Ward in question glared at me. Her whole body seemed to relax as Sveta continued, “I’m so glad to see you again! Oh my gosh, Vista! I’m such a huge fan!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You kidding? I’m a fan of yours, Sveta!” Vista didn’t even miss a beat, stepping closer and waving at Sveta. “Stalker’s always bragging about you, and I heard what you did for Core with that dumbass self-insert fanfic of his. Anyone that can help these two idiots deserves a medal!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t long before they kicked me out of the room. Doctor Yamada gave me a tour of the facility, as well as letting me meet a few other patients. Seeing their faces light up, remembering how happy Sveta and the others had been, a warm feeling went through me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the past few days, and the weeks likely to come, this was the sort of thing that made me feel like a real hero. Bringing friends together, and helping them find common ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe I could figure out a way to do something like this for the rest of my team?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, March 25, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Test 67, in three, two, one…” Chris pressed the button. A paper target on a metal rod popped out of a box in the middle of the room, cement blocks behind it. Exactly three seconds later, what looked like an oversized peripheral for a mid-90s gaming system spat out of a bolt of energy. A split second before the bolt hit the target, the clamps holding it released.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The paper fluttered down to the floor, not even a scorch mark on its surface, covering up the last 66 targets we’d failed to affect. Sighing, I joined Chris at the blueprint we’d been using, consulting it to try and figure out what had gone wrong. This was an attempt to make a gun that could shoot a </span>
  <em>
    <span>Time Ball</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like when I’d blended Gallant and Clockblocker’s powers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s this part here, where the solenoid valve interacts with the magnetic field.” I pointed at the part of the blueprint we hadn’t already covered in copious pencil marks and notes. I had blended Chris’ Tinkering with Clockblocker’s power, hoping it would give me some insight into chronological Tinkering or something. “Sorry I can’t be more helpful, I’m still learning as I go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding me? Every time we do a test you spot a problem, that’s way better than I’d get working alone!” Chris seemed ecstatic, even though I was little more than a glorified proofreader for electronics. 67 tests, 67 problems found, and now...67 alterations to his original design. “Okay, give me a few minutes, I want to try trading out the ferromagnetic core for one made of something other than iron. I think I have some cobalt or nickel around here somewhere…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Chris hunted around, I sat next to Dennis on the folding chairs we’d set up in the lab, well out of the way of the gun’s barrel. I’d spent most of the day with Dennis, both of us having gone for wellness checks at the hospital earlier. Way too many people had been triggering lately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seven of the nine people we’d met earlier had powers, and with the three a few days ago that made ten this week alone! Most of them seemed interested in being a hero (especially after I told them about their powers), but Dennis had been down ever since our last meeting. Two men had been shouting at him in Chinese, and we were both afraid they were destined for the ABB...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something on your mind, Dennis?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A lot of things.” He answered quickly, then glanced at Chris and lowered his voice. “Actually, it’s a mix of advice and a favor, if you’re up for it? I need you to do something for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As long as it’s not relationship advice, I’ll take a shot. Unless you want bad advice, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like there’s a story there...” Dennis trailed off, then sighed. “Dean and Sophia are fighting, refusing to talk about it, and I can’t get Aegis to fix it. So, I want you to talk to them. Thoughts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you do it?” I asked bluntly, and he recoiled. “Seriously? You’ve known them both longer than me, why are you trying to make me the easily-killed messenger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, haven’t you seen any of my PR events or PHO posts in the last two years? I’ve spent most of my time as a Ward being a goofy slacker, who would actually listen to my advice?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would.” Chris spoke up, startling both of us. He pointed a thumb back at the device. “Ready for the next test, and I couldn’t help but overhear. Anyway, you’ve given me a lot of good advice, so I think if you’re worried you should try to help them. What’s the worst that could happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay first of all, don’t drop that doom flag on me.” He held up a finger, adding, “Second, the worst that could happen is that I make it worse. They hear the silly goofball trying to give them advice, and either feel like crap or just get even angrier at me for trying to talk down to them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dennis, are you still mad at me for the crap I did on that Wards tour?” I interrupted, an idea suddenly coming to me. This sounded like a really familiar complaint, honestly. “When I came out of the bathroom and insulted everyone? All that crap I said, making everyone feel terrible?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Dennis looked worried, putting a hand on my shoulder. “Greg, no! I told you, that was before I knew you were all filled with anxiety and shit. You got better, and you’re trying to be better, so that guy’s a completely different...oh. I see what you’re saying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep, people are always changing.” I clapped him on the shoulder, laughing as realization flashed across his face. No wonder Lisa was always doing this to me, it was a hell of a rush! “We evolve beyond the person we were before. Little by little, we advance a bit further.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s familiar.” Chris closed his eyes, muttering, “Isn’t that a line from-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who cares!” Dennis jumped to his feet. “It doesn’t matter if he stole that from an anime about big robots with drills, it’s a damn good point. Greg, after this test, you wanna go brainstorm some ways to make this happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure!” I already had a dozen ideas, and the first was one based on a story Hobson had told me about something his boss had forced him to do the other day. “But first, let’s make a cool gun!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Chris started up the firing sequence, Dennis leaned closer and whispered, “Hey, talking about romance earlier reminded me of something. One of the nurses who helps my dad has a daughter named Delilah, and she has a huge crush on Amy. I was thinking of introducing them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He held up his phone, showing a cute girl around my age, standing beside a nurse. Wait, was that the nurse I had screamed at back when I was in my ABB cosplay? She had a daughter?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Amy said she was going to heal my dad, and I figured, what better way to pay her back?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before I could try to explain </span>
  <em>
    <span>many</span>
  </em>
  <span> better ways to pay her back, Chris hit the button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The target melted...as well as the wall behind it...and the wall behind that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the target was also frozen in time for a few seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We treated it like a success anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then we made plans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Tuesday, March 29, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you serious?” Dean jogged along behind me, and I did my best to avoid looking back at him. I had no poker face to speak of, so I just pretended to be worried. “Sophia said that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, after I told her about those three new E88 capes who burned down a synagogue, she said that enough was enough. She ran into a spare room and pulled a crossbow out of the wall, saying that she was going to fix this.” I shuddered a bit, since I could actually imagine her doing that...even though I’d made it all up. “Anyway, here we are! Dennis has been keeping a lookout.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I locked her inside, but she’s threatening to go out the window.” Dennis whispered, leaning closer to the two of us and pointing at the door. There was an odd device attached to it giving off little blue sparks, and Dennis quickly explained, “Chris put this together a few days back, just in case something like this happened. Aegis is busy, so...it’s all up to you Dean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do what I can. Turn it off and open the door. Greg, wish me luck.” Dean nodded, a look of intense focus on his face as he reached out and shook my hand. Dennis quickly flipped a switch on the device, then opened the door. “Here we go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rather than letting me go, Dean pulled on my arm and tripped me through the open door. Before I could get my bearings I heard a squawk, and then Dennis tripped over </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> and fell as well. I rolled over to see Dean closing the door behind him. “Dean, what the heck? This is-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some kind of forced team-building idea that you and Dennis cooked up?” Dean finished, raising an eyebrow. “I saw your emotions the whole way here, Greg.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what this shit is? They told me that they found one of my old crossbows and were afraid to touch it, then locked me inside.” Sophia, sitting on the nearby bed, glaring at us and waving a bandaged hand. “Fucking electrified the door. Only reason I didn’t go through the wall was because I wanted to fix my hand and then kick the shit out of them both.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait! Before anyone kicks the shit out of anyone, can you two just talk about why you’re treating each other like crap?” Dennis waved his hands, and I nodded rapidly. We both moved to the other side of the room, afraid to sit near Sophia, and looked between them. “The whole reason we Parent Trapped you two was to work things out! Also, sorry about the door.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry that Chris’ device hurt you, Sophia.” I saw her face relax a little, and then rocked my head back and forth. “But there’s so much fighting in the streets already, can’t we as a team-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine! Whatever, my therapist is always saying to do this sort of shit.” Sophia groaned and stood up, taking a deep breath before gritting her teeth. “Dean, I can’t do anything about the shit I did before I got sent away, besides try not to do it anymore. I’m also sorry that Terry nearly killed you because of me. I’m putting everything I have into getting stronger, so I can kick his ass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, Terry nearly...are you talking about the transport he attacked?” Dean’s jaw dropped as she nodded. He slapped his forehead. “Sophia for...I don’t blame you for that! He attacked that transport the day before you even got out of the Asylum! Plus, I was in my armor!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still my fault. I shoulda stopped him before.” She stalked closer. “But real talk? I like that you treat me like shit, and remind me what I used to be. Terry’s the worst piece of shit villain there is, and if I’d kept up with the bullying and vigilante shit I’d have been just as bad eventually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re not a vill-” Dean started to retort, but she slapped a hand over his mouth. He pulled her hand away, grabbing her shoulder. “You tried to sacrifice yourself to save heroes and your boyfriend! That’s not something a villain does. You’re not a villain, Sophia.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was!” Sophia shouted, then spun away from Dean. She began to pace, ranting. “I hurt people, I killed people, I stole and lied and cheated. I was a villain! But then people like you called me out on it, and my life got a whole lot fucking better! So keep calling me out. Keep pushing me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine! I will!” Dean roared, stabbing a finger at her. “I’ll keep pointing out your mistakes, but you’d better f-fucking believe that I’ll also point out the good stuff! Just you wait! Every time you get it right, I’m gonna praise you ‘til the cows come home, no matter what!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good fucking luck! I’ve got all kinds of problems and shit!” She shouted as he threw the door open, stomping down the hall, and Sophia ran after him. “For one thing, I’m-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We heard their voices receding as they shouted back and forth, and looked at each other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So...mission accomplished?” Dennis asked, slowly raising a hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yep.” I gave him a high-five. “We nailed it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, April 09, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The Wards Review Meetings had originally been a mix of training updates and disciplinary hearings, but they’d grown more important in the last few weeks. Without the ability to patrol, it was our only source of confirmed information on our town. The past week had been...rough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The war between the Merchants and Predators had reached a fever pitch a few days earlier, with their fight in the streets somehow drawing the attention of the ABB. The three-way battle got even worse when Lung showed up with his two new capes, and the other two gangs scrambled to escape the slaughter. He’d killed three of Skidmark’s five new capes!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But sometimes the good news didn’t require violence...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have three big pieces of good news before we close. First, school will be starting back up again next week.” Renick paused as we all groaned, but we’d been learning from home so it was mostly for show. “Well, normally I’d be annoyed by that reaction, but our second bit of news wouldn’t have happened if not for the schools closing. Just let me get us some privacy...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tapped a button, locking the doors and engaging electronic countermeasures with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A few weeks back, a young woman triggered, gaining powers having to do with probability. She was getting headaches from an overload of questions at school, and being at home let her parents see it firsthand.” He laughed, shaking his head for a moment, then let us in on the joke. “Apparently her parents were trying to help her with homework, and soon caught on to her powers. They called us, and now she’s on track to being our newest Ward, codenamed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, probability? Are you saying she’s a precog?” I asked, suddenly understanding why the school closure was good. If not for that, what might’ve happened? “Is she our new teammate?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe someday, but right now she’s getting special protection and training. Armsmaster is currently with her, and once Doctor Forrester and Frank finish her power testing she’ll likely spend some time helping Watchdog.” Renick answered a few more questions, then cleared his throat. “Finally, we recently got an anonymous phone call that led us to a building three of you may be quite familiar with. There, we found...well, just watch the bodycam video, I suppose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tapped a button, and a video timestamped for yesterday began to play. It was a run-down neighborhood that did indeed look oddly familiar, and as I heard Missy and Sophia whispering it hit me why. That was the same building Terry had taken Theo to, a few weeks back!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the video, the metal door was thrown open, and a flashlight shined on a figure tied to a chair in the middle of the room. It was a huge half-naked figure, their body covered in blood, but their head slowly raised at the noise. The camera zoomed in on the face, revealing...Terry!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Broken arms, broken legs, but nothing he won’t heal from. He’s currently in the hospital, and will be charged with-” Renick went on, but I heard Dean let out a little gasp and turned to see him staring at Sophia. She looked...angry? She excused herself to go to the bathroom, and shadowed through the door at a run. Renick proudly continued, “-top of that, documents were found at the scene identifying his mercenaries, hideouts, and several criminal connections.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, Sophia wasn’t in the bathroom after the meeting, but I had a pretty good idea where she’d gone. Even as Missy started reenacting that one scene from The Fugitive, I told her I’d check the gym. On my way out I sent two texts, then broke into a run for the bus stop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was a few minutes into my bus ride when I got a call from the second person I’d texted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, I’m guessing this was your revenge on Terry?” I asked, getting an affirmative noise. Knowing she was just dying to brag, I sighed and asked, “How’d you do it, Lisa?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We stole one of his getaway cars and took out the others, knowing if things went bad he’d save himself first.” In the background, I heard a distant door slamming. “Then I threw the ABB into the mix, calling Lung and telling him the two groups were teaming up to come after his territory.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, and Lung just listened to you? Haven’t you guys been robbing him for weeks?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I started learning Japanese a while back, so I just pretended to be one of his people named Yan. She’s got a reputation as a gossip and has contacts in other gangs, so it was easy to get Lung to crash their fight.” I could almost hear her shrug through the line. “Then we just picked Terry up in his own car, gassed him, tied him to a chair, and...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Broke him, then left him with incriminating evidence. But doesn’t this point the finger at Theo?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax! I made sure that Theo spent Thursday and Friday with Sophia and her hero mommies.” She grumbled and added, “He was over the moon, especially after all the shit Terry did to our Theo...and I guess all the shit he did to his Sophia and everyone else, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I notice you’re not calling her names this time.” I stood as the bus came to a stop, and stepped off to begin the short walk to the gym. “I thought you hated her? Is all forgiven?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, I still hate her guts. Half the reason we did it this way is because of how much it’ll piss her off. We just did in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>single day</span>
  </em>
  <span> the thing she’s been training to do for </span>
  <em>
    <span>months</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Lisa laughed, then trailed off and sighed. “But when Brian and I told him to dump her, Theo fought back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stayed silent, having arrived at the gym. Through the front doors I could see Sophia and Theo at one of the heavy bags. She was beating the hell out of the bag as he held it, looking angry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When Theo first joined us, he had...issues. Brian made him strong, Rachel made him confident, Alec taught him to have fun, and I did everything else.” She paused, as she had to force herself to talk. “But Sophia made him...happy, dumb as it sounds. When you texted him just now, he dropped everything to run to her. So Brian and I agreed to give her a chance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>One chance</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Lisa rambled on for a while about other things, I saw that Sophia had finally run out of energy, staggering a little. Theo was there in an instant, and he helped her sit down and drink some water. He accidentally spilled it on her, then she sprayed him back, and both laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A villain and a hero, working together to get through tough times...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe things really were getting better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Within a few days of Terry’s arrest and the PRT going after his base, the gang war petered out. It had already been winding down for a while, but maybe having an entire gang get taken down like that reminded everyone how all this had started. Nobody wanted to be next on the list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lung and the ABB had claimed a large amount of territory, the Travelers and Undersiders had made off with plenty of money, and Coil’s men hadn’t been seen in days. As for the Merchants, they had sunk back into the depths of Brockton Bay, their membership scattered and scared. Skidmark had gone into hiding, his capes mostly in custody or dead, the gang all but dissolved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The E88 was a different story. Although their power and reach was far weaker now, they were still a threat. Lichtenberg had survived the gang war, taking control and spreading the many capes who had joined him among smaller cells throughout the city. Their grip of fear on the city had finally broken...because we had learned that they could be beaten if we all worked together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the villains we had to fear...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone started calling Director Piggot out for her handling of the gang war. Fires, destruction, gang violence, real estate, and so many new villains...all of it painted an ugly picture. They put her on leave pending a full investigation, with Renick filling in as Acting Director in the interim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Word eventually came that Renick was going to be replaced with a different Acting Director at the end of May...Commander Thomas Calvert. Apparently he’d been a PRT field agent and parahuman consultant for a while. A few weeks from now, everything would change...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, I was just focused on finally being on the team of my dreams...as a Ward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then halfway through May, we all had a horrible nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A living nightmare, one that had killed countless capes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leviathan had come to Brockton Bay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*****************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: The hardest part about being a hero that people can depend on...is realizing that those people would be sad if something happened to you.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0054"><h2>54. 3.11: Learning to Save Lives</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Sunday, May 15, 2011]</b>
</p><p>As the other Wards and I entered the six story building that was serving as the staging ground for the fight against Leviathan, I slowed down to take it all in. </p><p>I was already a little shocked after seeing the fancy energy shield that had been outside the building for diverting waves, and had heard all about that and the new sensors on the drive over. Several Tinkers had worked together with Armsmaster to improve our Endbringer preparations. The fact that a few new Tinkers had triggered as a result of the gang war meant that we had more hands, hearts, and heads to draw upon, after all.</p><p>Of course, the gang war was impossible to forget about; there were already nearly thirty capes here, and the new ones stood out. Over near Oni Lee were two men in robes, wearing halloween masks. With the Protectorate were a half-dozen nervous people in plain bodysuits, and I recognized some of their powers from the many wellness checks I’d done last month.</p><p>But the ones that worried me most were the ones who stood away from everyone else. Nearly ten people with masks and E88 symbols, all with powers that might have impressed me if not for the convictions of the people they resided in. At their center was Lichtenberg, glaring at anyone who dared look his way. Already, their hateful group was bouncing back from- </p><p>“Wow, that’s not ominous at all.” Clockblocker pointed up at a huge digital clock on the wall, drawing my attention away from the new faces of the E88. “It’s literally a doomsday clock.”</p><p>“Wards over here, a moment of your time.” Miss Militia waved at us, then motioned for us to lean into a huddle with her. The veteran cape looked concerned, and lowered her voice slightly as we gathered. “Strider will be arriving shortly with capes from Boston, and before he leaves you have the option to go with him. There will be no shame or judgement if you choose to leave.”</p><p>“I’m not leaving, dunno about the rest of you. Behemoth was tough, but no way I’m abandoning my hometown.” Shadow Stalker broke the sudden silence after her mentor walked away, and I let out a sigh of relief. If anyone was going to be brave in the face of danger, it would be Sophia. </p><p>As if she’d set off a string of fireworks, the rest of us spoke up as well. We were all staying. </p><p>As the rest of the Wards started to head deeper into the building, I paused upon seeing a very familiar parahuman. Someone I hadn’t seen in person in a while, whose eyes slid over me as if I wasn’t worth his time. A violent killer who pretended to be civil despite being a monster.</p><p>Lung.</p><p>Normally he ignored Endbringer fights, but now he had a hell of a lot more territory to protect.</p><p>I overheard Lung say he was <em> only </em> here because Leviathan was attacking his <em> property </em>.</p><p>I went outside, because if I’d stayed I probably would’ve punched him.</p><p>***</p><p>Unfortunately, the phone lines were overloaded at the moment, so my plan of calling friends and family was a non-starter. As more vehicles pulled up and capes poured into the building behind me, I sent out text messages to literally everyone on my phone, just in case.</p><p>Then I saw something so strange that I nearly dropped my phone. </p><p>Three huge dogs and a bunch of smaller ones were galloping towards me. They slowed as they got closer, but what had me so surprised was who was on them. Astride each dog were three Undersiders, which was confusing since the team usually only had five members.</p><p>There were three women in leather jackets with plastic dog masks, two men in black leather with skull helms, two Regents, a Tattletale, and a Golem. Only five of the nine “Undersiders” had powers, and all nine quickly dismounted a dozen yards from me. As they ran by, I noticed one Regent had long hair, one Grue was skinny, and two of the Bitches were thin and black.</p><p>“I get the feeling I’m missing something here!” I shouted at Tattletale, the wind having picked up and a light rain falling around us. Rachel (the real one) ordered her dogs to stay put and then lead half of the Undersiders to the front door. “A whole lot of something! Hey, get back here!”</p><p>“No time, move! We gotta move, now! This could go to shit at any moment!” Lisa shouted back, dodging around me and ushering the four unpowered members through a side door instead. </p><p>Confused as to why she was going this way, I paused to look around for threats. Seeing nothing, I followed a minute later. The door led down some stairs, through a tunnel, and to another door that opened-</p><p>“Freeze!” Inside were all the four unpowered “Undersiders,” as well as several PRT who immediately pointed guns at me. Armsmaster was crouching over a metal hatch in the floor, and as he glanced up at me he seemed rather angry. “Oh, it’s just you, Core. Sorry, you have to go.”</p><p>“It’s fine!” Tattletale groaned, putting a hand to her face and stalking over to me. She grabbed my arm and dragged me to the others. “This idiot would have just copied my powers to find out what was going on. I’ll fill him in after we’re done. Speaking of which, you ready, Armsy?”</p><p>“Indeed.” The Tinker in question rose, lifting the hatch and revealing a ladder. He held out a hand, and Tattletale put a baggie of thumb drives in it. “Is that all of them?”</p><p>“All the stuff we agreed to, passwords in the encrypted sample email I sent an hour ago.” She kept a tight grip, her eyes fixed on his visor as I saw her powers flickering madly. “Remember, this isn’t everything, and some of what I have isn’t nice. You screw us, or let them get hurt…”</p><p>“I am a man of my word, no matter how dire the situation.” He placed the baggie in his armor, then nodded at her. "If this checks out, we’ll talk about the rest of our agreement after Leviathan is dealt with. Until then, you and your team will be protected, and your guests guarded."</p><p>With that, everyone but Tattletale, Armsmaster, and I went down the ladder. The last to go down was the unpowered Regent, because Tattletale was hugging him and whispering something in his ear. Something seemed familiar about him, but he left before I could figure it out...</p><p>Armsmaster waved for me to follow, then stalked through the door. I would have followed, but Tattletale put a hand to her head and started to say something to me.</p><p>Then she stumbled, and fell over. </p><p>***</p><p>I barely caught Lisa in time, helping her to the wall and sitting next to her as she moaned.</p><p>“Thanks. Just...give me a minute.” Lisa buried her face in her hands, letting out a nervous laugh that almost sounded like a sob for a moment. I put an arm around her shoulders, feeling her shudder, and said nothing as she dry-swallowed a pill she’d dug out of her pocket. A few minutes passed, and she quietly mumbled, “I ever tell you how we got Help Hounds going?”</p><p>“I assumed you just stole a lot of money and freed a bunch of dogs.”</p><p>“Well yeah, but we only got so much at once thanks to a certain Watchdog operative and his nazi girlfriend feeding us info on Hookwolf’s movements and operations.” She leaned her head back against the cool stone of the wall, wiping at her face before glancing at me. “Boss didn’t like that, and he made some pretty big threats. When the gang war kicked up, it scared me. I was sure he’d use it to kidnap Danny, Taylor, Celia, and Aisha. So I made a plan to save them.”</p><p>
  <em> Wait...the fake Regent had hair like Taylor’s, and...four of them...oh shit, Lisa you clever little- </em>
</p><p>The wan grin she sent my way told me that I was right. She’d snuck Danny, Taylor, Aisha, and Celia here via spare costumes, to protect them. Of course, I wasn’t a complete idiot...</p><p>“I’m guessing that you heard the sirens, and decided to escape Coil?” She looked a bit shocked that I’d figured it out, so I explained. “I have this smug Thinker I’m always dealing with, who taught me to think about opportunities and angles. Your actions during the gang war benefited Coil the most, so he had to be your boss. What I don’t get is why he vanished at the end.”</p><p>“He probably saw the writing on the wall. Merchants and Predators are done, E88 is rebuilding, but Coil and Lung are the biggest fish now. I’m pretty sure a bunch of the new capes, like Lichtenberg, work for him...and it was only a matter of time before the PRT figured that out. Whatever he’s up to, I’ve been seeing his body double lately and he’s been moving resources out of his base. He’s up to something huge...so I took my shot.” She stood, rubbing her temples. “I don’t get it. He could have stopped us, and yet he just...let us turn ourselves in. Why would Coil let me give the PRT everything I have? Why let us make a deal like this? Is he gonna-”</p><p>“Don’t worry, whatever his plan is, we’ll stop him together. I know you’re used to being a villain, but you’re with the heroes now!” I grinned as she glared at me, then left. “Welcome to the team!”</p><p>The door slammed behind her, and I let my smile fall off my face. She was right, there was no way Coil would just let her do this. I hated to think about it...but maybe she was only pretending to join the heroes? Or he was letting her join up and then he’d find some other way to blackmail her? Maybe his plan was to infiltrate our side? Take advantage of the situation? But why? How?</p><p>
  <em> Eh, we’ve got a precog, awesome teams, a new Acting Director on the way...we’ll be fine, right? </em>
</p><p>As if to prove me wrong, Armsmaster was waiting for me in the tunnel with bad news.</p><p>“Core, let me preface this by saying that I’m truly sorry...” Armsmaster caught me, voice thick with emotion, and I felt a sudden dread. “Recently, incoming Director Calvert proposed an idea to your parents and the PRT. He noted that in mere months you’d had many life-threatening incidents, as well as frequent contact with villains as both cape and civilian. He suggested a temporary transfer, somewhere you could get special training, a place safer than Brockton Bay.”</p><p>“Temporary? What, like Boston?” Armsmaster shook his head slowly. “New York? Where?”</p><p>“San Diego.” I nearly lost my balance, and he had to catch me. That was all the way on the other side of the country! What the heck? “The plan was for us to talk about it today, with your parents and the Youth Guard attending. Your parents seemed amenable, since it was rather like a summer camp, and you’d be around powerful heroes. They even said you liked the idea...”</p><p>“W-wait, that wasn’t what I meant!” I thought back to a week ago, when Mom and Dad had asked about my plans for the summer. I had told them I wanted to meet other heroes, and they had seemed so pleased. They said that they’d get back to me about it. “They tricked me!”</p><p>“If not for Leviathan, that would be easy to fix. But because Brockton Bay likely won’t escape unscathed, a few hours ago the decision came down to move up your timetable. Rather than leaving mid-June, you will leave next Sunday.” He gently placed a hand on my shoulder, smiling in a way that even I could tell was fake. “You’ll get to meet new Wards, train with a variety of amazing people, and while you’re gone we’ll clean up Brockton Bay to be better than ever.”</p><p>“No! This is my home! I can’t just leave it, especially after an Endbringer attack! Can’t I appeal?” This didn’t make any sense? I knew my parents wanted to protect me, but how could they let Calvert and the Youth Guard trick them into- “Can I just talk to Calvert, maybe explain that I-”</p><p>“Calvert won’t be meeting with any capes until a full week after you leave. But it's only for a few months...” He trailed off, gritting his teeth, and it took me a moment to realize he was mad at...himself. “I should have been a bigger part of your cape life, helped guide you. If I hadn’t ignored you that night in the alley, when you triggered...maybe things would have turned out better. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to bring you back early...and keep the town safe while you're gone.”</p><p>He patted me on the shoulder, but I had no words for him. Then he was gone, and I was alone.</p><p>I lasted a full minute before I started screaming and kicking the tunnel wall. My whole cape career I’d been making friends and learning from capes, regardless of their affiliation. Lisa, Brian, Theo, Ren, Fuse...they were just people, and I was being punished for knowing them?</p><p>Some random asshole was tearing me away from my home, my friends, and my life...all without even giving me a chance to defend myself? Fuck Thomas Calvert! Fuck everything!</p><p>I cried, wailed, and shouted at myself until I was hoarse. But eventually I had to rein myself in, wipe my face, and go back upstairs with the other heroes. No amount of screaming would fix this, and I was suddenly filled with motivation to do something that mattered. Something big.</p><p>Already, Legend was giving a speech about how many capes died during these things, but all I could think about was how much I’d wasted my life making stupid mistakes. I was surrounded by powers, my temper running hot, and I wanted to be a hero one last time before I...left.</p><p>The best gift I could give my town, my family, my friends...was to protect them from the monster closing in on us. If I stopped the Endbringer, then they could all remember me as a hero!</p><p>In fact, I’d have grabbed a few powers and gone off to kill Leviathan right then...</p><p>If my parents hadn’t called me at that very moment.</p><p>***</p><p>I dashed outside, phone to my ear and an apology on my lips as I nearly smacked into Dovetail. I copied her flight power and flew straight up, hoping that the roof would give me a strong signal.</p><p>I assured my parents I was okay, avoiding the topic of San Diego and going a mile a minute. I knew that if I started talking about the temporary transfer, then I’d lose my temper. I didn’t want my last words to my parents to be from me yelling at them. If Leviathan killed me, I wanted them to remember me as a...as a...</p><p>As I grew lightheaded from babbling at my parents, I sat on the edge of the roof. I hadn’t done that in a while, perhaps a testament to my mental state being so scattered. Mom weathered it with practiced ease, and finally started talking as I worked to catch my breath.</p><p>“<em> No it’s okay dear, we’re all fine. </em> ” Mom’s voice was a little bit difficult to hear, but only because of all the voices in the background. I heard something squeak, a metallic bang, and then it was easier to hear her. “ <em> Sorry, I had to hide in the car. We’re in the middle of helping people get set in the Endbringer Shelter. It’s like these people have never organized anything in their lives.” </em></p><p>“Well, lucky you guys happened to be nearby, huh?” I faked a laugh. “What Shelter are you in?”</p><p><em> “We’re in the southeast part of town, near that beach that Armsmaster cleaned up with that tinker thingy you were telling us about last month. George has been entertaining children by explaining it. </em> ” She sounded tired, but I was just glad that all three of them were together. I’d forgotten that they’d all gone to the beach today. “ <em> Oh, George is knocking on the window, he wants to talk to you. </em>”</p><p>The phone crackled a bit, I heard the car door slam, and I nervously asked, “George?”</p><p><em> “Yeah, sorry. Just tired from talking, trying to keep people distracted. Tinkertech, my new hand, anything I can do to settle them down.” </em> George sounded tired, but that determination I’d always heard in his voice was back. Despite his confidence, he sounded so scared as he said, “ <em> Greg, I want you to promise me. Promise me you won’t fight the Endbringer.” </em></p><p>“George, I have to-”</p><p>“<em> No! Don’t argue with me on this Greg, please. </em> ” George let out what might have been a sob, and I heard him hit the dashboard with his fist. “ <em> Remember how you felt when I was going to take on the E88? When I was going to face down Kaiser? That’s how I f-feel right now. I could have died that day...imagine how you’d have felt if I had. Please, don’t fight the Endbringer. Please! </em>”</p><p>The sounds he was making, the words he was saying...they had me thinking of the argument we’d had the day before I’d run off to infiltrate the ABB. How much it had hurt him that I was pushing him away, doing dumb stuff, and suffering in ways he couldn’t stop. The pain that had been in his voice back then...it was twice as bad now. </p><p>“I’ll do the best I can, George.” He started to talk, but I raised my voice for a moment and he stopped. “But I’m a hero...I can’t just stand by and watch people suffer. If it’s the choice between someone dying and me getting hurt...I can’t promise to just stand by. I didn’t do it for Taylor, I didn’t do it for Theo, and I’m not going to start doing it now.”</p><p><em> “I love you Greg. We all do. Just...try to love yourself as well. Don’t forget that you matter, too.” </em> </p><p>George put Mom back on, and as I tried to get myself under control she told me to be careful. More realistic than George, she seemed to know that there was no controlling a battlefield, but begged me to think before I acted. I could hear a note of panic in her voice, and I felt it too.</p><p>“<em> I know that you want to help, to fight evil, and I don’t blame you for your passions. But at the same time, you can do so much good with your kindness, your leadership, and the way you inspire others. The way you inspired us.” </em> I heard the line crackle, and felt like I was losing her.</p><p>I tried to assure her it would be fine, but just minutes ago I’d been planning to go straight for Leviathan. I didn’t want to lose my family or to make them worry about losing me, but I couldn’t just <em> not </em> fight! Could I? Did I really have to choose between my family and my town?</p><p>
  <em> Another week and it won’t even be my town anymore...was I really going to kill myself for... </em>
</p><p>“Mom, I…” I choked, taking off my mask so I could wipe my tears. “I love you!”</p><p>“<em> I can’t hear you, Greg. But I love you. We all do.” </em> She started to say something else, but I couldn’t make her out over all the static. “ <em> Just...don’t...depending...you...” </em></p><p>The line went dead, and I pulled my mask back on. I had to be brave, I had to...</p><p>Looking down at my phone, I saw I'd received dozens of texts.</p><p><b>Allen:</b> I’m okay. In a shelter. Going to pray for you and your family. I love you, Greg.</p><p><b>Ren: </b>My business partner has been quiet all week, so I left town. Good timing, eh? Be safe, kid!</p><p><b>Deacon:</b> In a Shelter with my sister and her lady. You’re strong, so I know you’ll be fine.</p><p><b>MrG:</b> I know you’re not my student anymore, but you were a hero at Winslow. Stay safe, Greg.</p><p><b>Hans:</b> Dunno how you got my number, but...thanks. I guess I’ll pray for you. Good luck, guy.</p><p><b>Susan:</b> Oh yeah, I’m safe in a shelter. I mean, what am I gonna do, lawyer it to death?</p><p><b>Sparky:</b> Who the heck are you? Greg? That sounds familiar. Do we have Quinlan together?</p><p>More and more replies came in, from friends and acquaintances, all telling me to stay safe.</p><p>All telling me that I mattered to them, and that my life meant something to them.</p><p>Sighing, I floated down to have the most difficult conversation of my life.</p><p>***</p><p>I came back inside just as Legend finished his speech, but I’d heard audio of it before. I quickly flew up after him, following him to a small observation deck above the crowd.</p><p>But when I landed, I saw he wasn’t alone.</p><p>“Ah, so you’re the new Ward...Core, was it?” Alexandria and Legend turned to face me, the latter speaking to me. “We were just talking about how best to utilize your abilities today.”</p><p>“Actually, that’s why I came up here, er...sir.” I was so startled by the fact that I was <em> talking </em> to <em> The Triumvirate </em> that for a moment my mind blanked, and I blurted, “I can’t fight today.”</p><p>They traded a glance, and I glared down at my feet. I was like a little kid who’d been invited to play with the big kids, but now had to tell them that my mommy didn’t want me getting dirty.</p><p>“I’m sorry. I know you probably wanted me to fight, and that my powers could have done so much to blend some cool powers together. But...I talked to my family.” I’d been all ready to run off and beat up Leviathan by myself, wanting to stop it before it could hurt the people I cared about. But hearing those very people tell me how much they cared about me... “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“It’s okay.”</p><p>My gaze snapped up, and I saw that Legend had left. It was just Alexandria and I, standing together on the observation platform. I was struck silent by her strangely kind reassurance, her voice sounding kind of familiar and amused at the same time. But it was her powers that really captivated me. Her haze was so unique, powers crisp and...solid. It was scary how perfect they-</p><p>“Core. I understand your power, and why this must feel like a betrayal to you.” I started to say something, but just by breathing in she silenced me. “But you have nothing to be ashamed of.”</p><p>“But I thought we were all here to fight? Legend even said that so many heroes die, so doesn’t having someone stay out of the fight mean more people are going to die?” I started to turn away, pretty sure she was just taking pity on me for being a coward. A hand that could have molded steel stopped me, gently settling on my shoulder like a butterfly. “What good am I?”</p><p>“Working with the Healers today, you can save many lives, and that’s just the start. Search and Rescue, moving supplies, and more...all are jobs you can take thanks to the myriad of powers you can copy and blend.” I hadn’t thought of that, and for a moment felt like such an idiot. Of course, I could do more than fight! “Someday, we’ll find a way to beat the Endbringers. But until then, we need to survive, and rebuild after. This is your real duty. This is why people need you.”</p><p>“I’ll be there, every day. Every time.” I replied, trying to save some face and knowing how stupid I sounded. “I won’t give up. We’ll win someday, I swear it.”</p><p>“I know we will, as long as we have heroes like you on our side.” She laughed, and I couldn’t help but think it sounded familiar. Then she kept talking, and I froze. “Sandra always brags about you and George, and now I see why. There are so many heroes in your family…”</p><p>By the time I thought to ask how she knew Mom, she’d already flown off.</p><p>As for me? A PRT agent took me down below. </p><p>I had lives to save.</p><p>***</p><p>After I was directed to a locker room and made to trade out some parts of my costume for a surgical mask, goggles, and a heavy smock, we started looking for powers.</p><p>Our first stop was a group of just over a half-dozen people in matching jumpsuits and domino masks. All wore the same kind of blinking collar, and it took me a few moments to recognize them. They were surrounded by PRT, and each had a hero shadowing them.</p><p>
  <em> Othala, Stormtiger, Rune, Fenja, Purity, Alabaster...all E88 who didn’t go to the Birdcage! </em>
</p><p>Rumor was that they were traveling around the country on one of Dragon’s ships, guarded by heroes and fighting S-class threats. At this rate, they’d be at it for a few decades before they made up for all the damage they’d done. Even looking at them now, all seemed ragged. Good.</p><p>I didn’t even spare a word for them, just copying one of Alabaster’s powers (<em> Body Reset </em>) and then moving on with my escort. He took me to the place I’d be spending most of my day, the medical area. I could already see Strider there, memorizing the drop zones he’d be using. </p><p>Panacea’s <em> Body Understanding </em> would allow me to touch someone and see what ailed them.</p><p>Scapegoat had several powers, and while some actually kind of hurt to look at, one was a sort of <em> Self-Sacrifice </em> ability. It was like I could push my own wellbeing, be it blood, healthy organs, or unmarked flesh, into another person. Even if I weren’t O Positive, it seemed like the power changed what I sacrificed into something that fit their body...at the cost of mine.</p><p>Finally, since that second one would certainly have led to an early grave, Alabaster’s power would let me reset my body back to a pristine state every fifteen seconds. After a few uses, I saw my skin get several shades lighter as it streamlined itself to eight. The triple blend fit nicely together in my core, and I tested it out by fixing a nearby hero’s broken finger. </p><p>It felt...strange. Like I had just given him my finger. But a few seconds later, mine reappeared.</p><p>Then I was alone, staring up at the doomsday clock, watching time tick down...down...down...</p><p>A hand grabbed my arm, dragging me into a group of familiar powers, and I was introduced to all of New Wave. Glancing at the person who had grabbed me I saw Panacea. She muttered that this was her first Endbringer fight as well, and she recognized my facial expression. Her whole family thanked me for healing alongside her, and swore to protect both of us.</p><p>We talked about all manner of subjects, from my thoughts on Thinker headaches to Shielder’s gossip about Victoria’s snoring. They laughed and joked, just like a family of heroes... </p><p>Brandish warned her daughter not to overdo it, Panacea hugged her mother and tried not to cry. Flashbang was explaining tactics to Glory Girl and Shielder, both listening with rapt attention. Suddenly I understood what George had been feeling when he told me not to fight...</p><p>I crept off from the family moment, and stopped when I saw another familiar face. I’d been worrying about this earlier, but now I knew that I couldn’t let him go off to fight for me without at least introducing myself. If nothing else, he deserved to know that I appreciated his sacrifice.</p><p>“Happy ta meet ya, kid. Name’s Gun Guy.” A man with a metal arm shook my hand, and I decided to start fresh with him instead of worrying about our past. “Core, eh? Nice name.”</p><p>Beside him was a woman in a trenchcoat, Fuse. I thanked her for helping with my power testing, and soon she was bragging to her brother about how she’d <em> taught </em>me to use my powers.</p><p>I knew that this was the sort of thing that had given Calvert ammo to exile me, but I ignored it. They were helping, trying to be better, and that deserved respect. Calvert could kiss my ass.</p><p>Then a tidal wave hit the shields, and everyone else ran off to save the day.</p><p>Panacea grabbed my hand, pulling to the medical area.</p><p>Leviathan was here.</p><p>***</p><p>There was a huge monitor in the triage room, with a feed from a bunch of drones (suspiciously gold-colored, like a legion of Leet’s Snitches) that were keeping an eye on Leviathan. There was barely any sound, but I found myself being distracted during every free moment.</p><p>
  <em> Legend knocked Leviathan down with a barrage of lasers...stop firing into the dust cloud, dude! </em>
</p><p>“Need another set of hands here, she’s bleeding out!” I rushed over, but by the time I placed my hands on her and found the problem, it was too late. “That’s enough Core, she’s dead.”</p><p>People were dying all around me, and it was all I could do to keep up with the real healers.</p><p>Panacea rushed from bed to bed, like some sort of machine. Othala was touching patients as directed, her PRT handler on her like a shadow. Scapegoat, the teenager in the odd costume, was either pressing his hands to someone’s body or muttering in the corner. Even Sanguine (the red kid) was snapping his fingers and pointing at people as their wounds crusted up.</p><p>
  <em> Shit! Tidal wave! Oh man, Adamant was there, does he have air in his suit? What if he drowns? </em>
</p><p>I kept freezing up every time I heard Dragon’s voice, praying it wasn’t anyone I knew. Her voice somehow broke through, every few minutes listing off people whose lives would soon be in our hands...or whose lives had ended at the hands of Leviathan.</p><p>
  <em> “Adamant down, CD-5. Aegis down, CD-5. Assault down, CD-5. Brandish deceased, CD-5. Daunt-” </em>
</p><p>I looked back to see that Panacea staggered as she heard her mother’s name, but despite the tears flowing from her eyes she kept going. Kept healing, even when she wanted to grieve.</p><p>How could I do any less? I ran to the next patient, fixing their lungs (one at a time, I had learned) by giving up my own, then pausing as my own snapped back into existence. The man gasped, and it was only as he was being wheeled away that I realized he had been Stormtiger.</p><p>
  <em> Sweet! Kid Win nailed it with the Temporal Immobilizer we made. Oh crap, the gun blew up-  </em>
</p><p>
  <em> POP </em>
</p><p>As much as I wanted to make sure Kid Win was okay, I turned at the sound of a muffled thunderclap. Strider was there, one of his arms gone below the elbow, and a pair of red-suited heroes at his feet lay motionless. Then I saw blood and water start to pour out of them both...</p><p>It took me a moment to realize who they were, and then I was jamming my hands into the closest one. There were so many things wrong that I called out for help, and was relieved when Panacea and Othala both came to my rescue. In the minutes that followed, motivated by a heart that was somehow still beating, we put everything we had into him.</p><p>With a gasp, with wet coughs that would have worried me had it been anyone else, Aegis finally took a breath on his own. He looked around, confused, and then started to weep and curse us. </p><p>It was the most emotional I’d ever seen the hero, but I couldn’t blame him. Beside him, dead for several minutes, lay his friend, boss, and mentor...Assault. I looked away, hoping it was over...</p><p>
  <em> A monster burst out a collapsing building, tentacles grabbing at heroes and eating them and- </em>
</p><p>The monster was attacked by Leviathan, and roared from a dozen mouths as it fought back. A legion of Coil’s soldiers poured out of the building after it, as well as a tall skeletal man in a skintight...holy shit! That was Coil! Was that building Coil’s base? </p><p>I watched the villain shout and slap at his men, then recoil as one of them spun and shot him in the gut. Coil fell to his knees and pulled off his mask, vomiting blood into the knee-deep water.</p><p>
  <em> Tall, skinny, paler than me...this is the true face of Coil? His own men are killing him! Mutiny? </em>
</p><p>The Travelers ran up, covering the retreat of Coil’s now-leaderless men. The capes shouted something at the monster, sounded like...Noelle? Was that its name? How did they know it?</p><p>
  <em> Noelle vomited out some naked people? Whoa! They have powers! Take that, Leviathan! </em>
</p><p>I was prying a screaming man’s hands off my arm when a huge Lung finally made his appearance. Leviathan looked up from all the naked capes it had killed and-</p><p><em> POP </em> </p><p>Strider had arrived with more injured capes. We had barely dealt with the ones we had!</p><p>Even with his arm gone, he refused to give up. He refused to stop. He was so strong!</p><p>I tried to stay strong, but things just kept getting worse, people kept dying. </p><p>I started to feel overwhelmed…</p><p>Time began to blur...</p><p>
  <em> The Travelers and Noelle started to retreat, but Trickster was sliced in half by Leviathan’s tail- </em>
</p><p>I reattached someone’s leg, trying not to throw up as they screamed and their kneecap-</p><p>
  <em> Noelle bellowed and attacked Leviathan, Sundancer turned back to support it, a sun blazing- </em>
</p><p>I slipped on blood and hurt my ankle, but couldn’t waste time and just pushed through the pain-</p><p>
  <em> Lung tore at Leviathan, Leviathan tried to tear Noelle in half, Sundancer’s sun burned all three- </em>
</p><p>I had started crying at some point, but every time I tried to wipe my face blood smeared all over-</p><p>
  <em> More tidal waves. More died. Manpower, Menja, Ballistic, Oni Lee, Chubster...it was hopeless- </em>
</p><p>I was too slow and too weak and too stupid and everyone was depending on me but I couldn’t-</p><p>
  <em> Why wasn’t I out there, with them? Armsmaster’s leg torn off, Gallant’s armor shattered, Vista- </em>
</p><p>Strider wouldn’t stop coming! My friends lay dying around me! I didn’t know who to help first-</p><p>
  <em> Alexandria punched Leviathan, but it still sliced through three more capes as it flew, their blood- </em>
</p><p>Vista wasn’t breathing, Armsmaster’s stump gushed blood, Gallant’s armor and bones were-</p><p>
  <em> Sundancer wept over Noelle’s remains, holding her human half...Leviathan looming over them- </em>
</p><p>People started to cheer as a golden light blasted Leviathan away from Sundancer.</p><p>Scion had come, launching bolts of power at Leviathan, making it flee.</p><p>I wanted to collapse, but knew my job wasn’t over yet.</p><p>Alexandria had said I had a duty to the people.</p><p>In a week I’d be shipped to San Diego.</p><p>Until then, I couldn’t rest.</p><p>I was needed.</p><p>*************</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: When he started his journey to become a hero, Greg decided he wanted to make sure the person under the mask was ready first. But what happens when he forgets that the person under the mask, for all his power, is merely human?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>EDIT: Thanks to a suggestion from a reader, I’ve changed Armsmaster’s talk with Greg to be smoother, the location to San Diego (Wards training camp), and the time more temporary (Summer). The exact location never mattered, more that he was being torn from his home. It lets Calvert get rid of him for a bit, looks good to parents and Youth Guard, and helps the PRT. It still hurts, but feels more like a natural idea that he accidentally agreed to, being moved up a week due to circumstances (Endbringer).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0055"><h2>55. 3.12: Learning to Be a Hero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>[Sunday, May 15, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment one of the doctors told me to take a break, I ran for the door. I was tired, sore, and soaked in blood, but I couldn’t waste time. I nearly slipped on all the blood, but Sanguine was kind enough to pull it off me with his powers. He had a lot of work ahead of him, that kid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I burst through to the main room to see that most of the capes had returned, then blended flight from Dovetail and Victoria. Already, Dragon and Legend were starting to divide jobs among capes, planning rescue efforts, but I went for the door. Unfortunately, I wasn’t alone in that goal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I frowned as I saw many villain capes leaving, nearly all the E88 and ABB, glaring at each other as they headed back to their territory. I just hoped they’d stay out of trouble for a week or so, while we worked to fix the town. Renick didn’t even look at them as he assigned work to PRT.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While trying to get his attention so I could tell him where I was going, I had to suffer through hearing some of the PRT agents praise Calvert. Somehow he’d managed to find a whole lot of food and medical supplies, and was hard at work trying to organize things. I could see that Renick didn’t exactly love hearing his men talk about his replacement, but he didn’t give up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sighing, I gave up on waiting for Renick, and took off for the shelter my family had been in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I flew, all I could think about was how much we’d lost. From up here I could see all the destruction laid bare, hear people’s cries echoing through the streets, and realize just how little help I’d been. Despite my training, powers, time in the gym...I’d failed so many people...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I wasn’t going to just give up. I’d use these feelings to motivate myself to try harder!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything that I did, from this moment forward, would be done to honor them. I’d heal everyone who needed help, search for every lost child, rescue every buried person, feed everyone who needed it, fix everything that was broken, and more. But first, I had to check on my family.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renick must have seen me and called ahead, because when I arrived at their shelter I was directed to a private room to speak to them. The first thing they did was hug me, making me glad Sanguine had cleaned me, and then there was a nice, long, awkward silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“San Diego.” I finally said it, and crossed my arms as they opened their mouths. “Wait. I get that Brockton Bay isn’t safe. That you were trying to protect me. But I still feel like you tricked me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We weren’t trying to trick you, son.” Dad held out a hand, then dropped it as I flew backwards. He sighed, leaning against Mom as she put an arm around him. “Mr. Calvert called us, saying that your powers would make you a perfect fit for the Wards Training Camp. You could learn so much, teach others about their powers, and then you said you wanted to go train with capes-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I said I wanted to-” I cut myself off, realizing I had been about to scream at them. My parents, who had just spent hours huddled in a shelter, fearing for my life and theirs. “Sorry. Why didn’t you talk to me? Tell me? Why not make sure that was what I meant, before you just...did this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were going to do that today. I set the meeting myself.” George piped up, holding out his phone with a calendar app. “The paperwork was filled out, but nothing was approved yet. The plan was to get all of us in a room, let Calvert make his pitch, and then try to convince you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Convince me? So what if I said I didn’t want to? What if I said I wanted to stay here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We d-didn’t want you to stay here.” Dad’s voice caught, and he stuttered a bit as he started getting emotional. “Calvert reminded us that you nearly d-died at Winslow. Nearly d-died to Lung. Got shot by his henchman. The bomb. The k-kidnapping. Mastering yourself. Then he listed off all these villains you were friends with, and we j-just…we were s-so...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were worried about you.” Mom looked like she was fighting not to reach out and hug me, and started talking faster and faster as her Veder blood sang in her veins. “You have such amazing powers...but just like us you see the best in people and get in over your head. Calvert said you had all these villains around you, like the ones that nearly killed George, and when we heard the Endbringer sirens we...panicked. On the way here we asked the PRT to move you as soon as possible, but Strider couldn’t find you and we called you and you sounded so scared-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know! I get it! Stop!” I shouted, putting my hands over my ears. All three of them were staring at me with what looked like pity, and I let out a shuddering sigh. “I’m sorry. Thanks for looking out for me. I just...I need time to process this. I need space. I need to go help people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, we should do the same.” George stepped between us, trying to smile. “I called a friend in the PRT, and they’re going to provide a place for you to stay this week. I know things are kind of heated right now, and that maybe we need some time...apart. Time to think and plan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, t-that’s a good idea.” Dad cleared his throat, arm around Mom as she wiped at her face. “We’re sorry, son. We’ll be going to shelters all week, helping out, if you want to...talk. In the meantime, try not to overdo it. Take some time for yourself, okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” I walked to the door, then paused and looked back at my parents. “I’m sorry, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I hugged them before I left, then made my way to the hospital and changed clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three powers later and I was ready to heal all the people I’d let down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had so little time left, and so much to make up for.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Monday, May 16, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still can’t believe you knew for so long and never said anything.” I groaned, putting my masked face in my hand as Taylor giggled beside me. She patted my shoulder, having just finished explaining that she was far smarter than I’d expected, and had an excellent ear for voices. “I knew I should have started using an accent or something in costume...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if I hadn’t recognized your voice from that TV interview I went to, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Core </span>
  </em>
  <span>told a bunch of stories about his civilian life that were a match to stories </span>
  <em>
    <span>Greg </span>
  </em>
  <span>had told me before.” Her laughter died down as the leash in her hand tugged, and the dog on the other end of it started to bark. Sighing, Taylor pulled out her radio. “S&amp;R Team 5 at the corner of Maple and 23rd, dog’s picking up the smell of blood in the apartment building here, number 1322. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We waited for the reply, and she absently tossed a treat to her dog (a yappy little beagle she called Madison) before they told us it had already been checked, and we continued onwards. Beagles had powerful noses, and this one had been in training for exactly this sort of thing. I tried not to think about the bodies it was finding, and was glad when she changed the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still, back to the other conversation, wanting to do more to help? That’s why I’m here now. Lisa showed up at my house on a giant dog, stuffed Dad and I into costumes, and then had the PRT bury us in a bomb shelter.” We’d been doing search and rescue for over an hour, and Shadow Stalker was nearby (acting as both S&amp;R and Taylor’s bodyguard). “While we were safe, so many people died. Everyone we lost...all the heroes, too. I can’t even keep track of them all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>So many heroes died. Just like that. Battery, Assault, Manpower, Chubster, Brandish...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was trying to talk to Amy this morning, and accidentally mentioned Carol. I saw the video...” It had been horrifying, seeing Brandish turn into a ball of light before Leviathan just...shattered her. “Amy finally connected with her, and now she’s gone. I want to be there for people, but all my friends and family are fine. It’s like I’m smiling at a funeral, know what I mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know how that is, but in my case it’s because what I’m losing isn’t nearly as bad as what everyone else lost.” She turned away from me, pretending to watch Madison as the dog investigated a storm drain. “All I can think of are my own problems. Rachel’s...leaving.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leaving? What do you mean? She can’t just leave Help Hounds, it’s like her baby!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“According to Lisa, Help Hounds was part of her strategy to prove Rachel was a decent person.” Taylor rolled her eyes, smirking slightly at that. “She helped a lot of dogs, stayed out of trouble for months, and proved she was more than a villain. Susan got her a deal with the PRT to travel to other cities, training police dogs and helping to shut down dog fighting rings. Problem is, they want her to go to some Wards training camp in San Diego first, and she leaves in a week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what happens to Help Hounds?” I was tempted to mention I’d be going to the same place, but then I’d have to tell Taylor I was leaving her as well. This wasn’t the time for me to whine about my problems...not when so many other people were suffering. “Wasn’t she the owner?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Technically Lisa was the owner, and she made me Manager last week. I mean, everyone comes to me for help, I may as well be the owner.” Taylor looked proud at that, but there was a little worry gnawing at her that she kept trying to hide. “I know that we’ll be fine, but I’m really afraid to lose her like this. I feel like such a selfish jerk, when I should be happy for her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit!” She nearly tripped, then turned to look at me as I cursed myself for shouting. “Sorry, but that’s complete bullshit, Taylor. Look, during power testing, I told Auroch I was worried about my powers making me get some kind of superiority complex. She said if I could worry about it, then I wasn’t there yet. You convinced me not to go back to Winslow, helped me patch things up with Theo and Allen, and you’re asking for advice because you’re worried about Rachel. As a former self-absorbed asshole, you’re so far from being one I’d need a telescope to see you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess you are the expert on the subject, even if you have gotten better.” She threw an arm around me, squeezing me close for a moment before pushing me away. “Thanks, though. Also, thanks for reminding me how much you owe me for saving you all those times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess I can start paying you back now. What else has been bugging you?” I tried to keep my tone light, but after hearing about Rachel all I could think of was that I needed to track down all my friends. I had to make sure they were fine, so I could leave with a clear conscience. “I mean, don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at Lisa at breakfast. Is this about her...old life?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, we talked about that and I’ve accepted that she was in a bad situation. This is…” She took a deep breath and started rambling, “Even if we weren’t meant to be a couple, I still like her. Not like dating, but...like a sister or something. She’s done so much for me, even if she can be a judgy bitch sometimes. Now that she’s with the heroes I thought it would be better, but she’s so stressed out...so I want to pay her back. But I don’t really know what I can do to help her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, this is just a suggestion, but I have it on good authority that she needs support right now.” Taylor shot a ‘no kidding’ look at me, and I held up a hand. “I mean, she just betrayed her boss, threw everything away to save the people closest to her, and is basically homeless...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I saw Taylor’s eyes light up, and soon she was telling me an idea that I poked many, many holes in. Each one, she figured out a solution, and by the time we separated she was in a great mood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It motivated me to try even harder, because there were so many more who needed help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Tuesday, May 17, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>It was hard getting out of bed after all the walking yesterday, but I couldn’t quit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today I was using Rune’s power, moving huge crates of food and supplies to various Endbringer Shelters. Most of them were empty now, but a few still had people whose homes had been so badly damaged that they’d be there for a while. Until the local hotels could get cleaned up, I had to do everything I could for them. It was hard being so cheerful, but I did it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While I was taking a break, waiting for the next shipment to be ready, I got a phone call. The networks were up and down depending on power usage around town, but of course the person calling had connections to know exactly when to call. My cool brother always knew the score.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George was just checking in, and I tried to keep my voice light and happy. It took so much out of me, pretending to be a Greg who wasn’t exhausted. He suggested meeting up, but I still felt bad about Sunday’s talk. I didn’t want to yell at my family again, and...people needed me. Time was running out before San Diego, and there were so many people to heal, save, and help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must have caught onto my reluctance, and changed the subject to his own work. Apparently Nutcracker had floated the idea of him starting a new project soon...in the UK. It was a few months off, but the superteam called The Suits had been having problems. If nothing else, George thought it would be a nice change of pace from spying on nazis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, I lied and told him that my new shipment was ready, so I had to go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another six shipments, all I could think about was losing George. I was so distracted that I accidentally took a shipment to the wrong location. I broke up a fight, moved the food again, and got hit in the head with a bottle thrown by someone who accused me of ‘stealing’ the food.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time I got to bed, night had fallen and I was too tired to eat dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Wednesday, May 18, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>On Wednesday, Panacea finally broke down. She’d been working practically non-stop, even though a girl named Delilah kept trying to get her to take a break. I think she was the one Clockblocker had been talking about, and the two certainly seemed friendly. Someone called Glory Girl to come talk to Panacea, and that went about as badly as it could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started yelling that taking a break was what had gotten her mother and so many others killed, despite Victoria trying to calm her down. Luckily rage can be exhausting, because it was only a few minutes into their argument before Panacea stumbled and fainted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing just behind her had been Delilah, who caught the healer and gently lowered her to the ground to check her vitals. All business, she requested fluids for her friend, and a wheelchair. Amy just needed rest, and her sister and friend promised to make sure she got it as they left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in the meantime, it meant that I had to work twice as hard, so that she could have time to recover. The doctors and nurses just shared a look as I explained that, then a group of injured people came through the doors and work resumed. There were always more people to heal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So imagine my surprise when, after failing to convince me to get some lunch around noon, a nurse came to tell me that Aegis was here looking for me. They had brought in Scapegoat to take my place, despite my complaint that </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> of us would make things go twice as fast…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, they bodily shoved me out the door, telling me I was banned for the rest of the day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Aegis, heard you wanted to talk to me?” I tried to play it off as if I’d meant to fling myself through the doors, but wasn’t sure how well it worked on him. He looked worried about something, and I hoped it wasn’t another lecture about me working too hard. “What’s up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mind taking a walk with me, Core? There’s someone on the third floor you need to talk to.” The red-suited hero gestured and I quickly fell into step beside him, both of us making our way through the crowded hospital. “We can take the stairs...more privacy there as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was still hard to look at him and not see the torn-up form I’d been struggling to heal a few days back. Going toe-to-toe with Leviathan, having his mentor shove him out of the way of a deadly blow, and working Search &amp; Rescue a few days later. He was one of the bravest people I knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you’re already aware, several shelters were damaged in the attack, some even taking on icy water that put their inhabitants in danger. Someone we both know was brought here a few days ago, and was lucky enough to only experience minor frostbite.” Aegis reached the third floor and stopped, then leaned against the wall for a moment. “Allen can see visitors as of a few hours ago, and I want you to talk to him. But first, I need you to understand why...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already know why.” I sighed, then started to walk away before his hand caught me. “I need to get back to work, Aegis. This seems like something more down your alley, anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Down my...are you kidding?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ignored him, remembering the haze I’d seen around Allen when I’d visited him earlier. He’d been sleeping, and thus hadn’t seen me nearly collapse against the wall. Even my miniature panic attack didn’t disturb him, and I’d staggered out of the intensive care unit as fast as I could. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctors had said that Allen had nearly died from hypothermia after saving people from icy water, and that all his injuries had healed by the time they got him to the hospital. It looked like a Brute power of some kind, and I should have been happy that my friend was going to be okay...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But all I could think about was that I’d failed my friend. That he had powers now, and his life was infinitely more complicated. That I was going to have to abandon him in a few days, just like I’d broken his heart weeks ago. This was yet another problem that was my fault because I hadn’t been strong enough to stop Levia-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Aegis snapped his fingers in my face, and I blushed as I realized I’d been saying all that out loud. “We’re all to blame, man. What matters now is what we do, and the people we help. For instance, you can talk to Allen about his situation, and we can get him into the Wards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t help myself, I burst out laughing. Hit with the worry that he’d just stalk off, I managed to drop my powers and copy his, letting some of his calm personality creep over me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dude, I’m literally the last person to talk about making good life decisions when it comes to getting new powers!” I started counting off my fingers, talking over him as he tried to interrupt. “In the first month I had powers I tried to infiltrate the ABB! I attacked Lung! I did homebrew power testing! I Mastered myself, and nearly died a dozen times!”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Now that I say it out loud, no wonder my family wanted me to go to San Diego...I’m horrible.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking off my self-recriminations, I looked up to see Aegis shaking his head a little, and poked him in the chest. I tried to project confidence, and remind him he was the leader for a reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He needs a cape who makes good choices. Someone who he knows and trusts. Someone he can identify with, and confide in. Someone who will...still be here in a few days, and can stay by his side...” I trailed off, then felt a bit of relief as Aegis headed towards the door that would take him where he needed to be. “You check every box, Aegis. Save my friend...please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door closed, and I headed for the roof. Allen was in good hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As for me? I’d use these powers to cover Aegis’ S&amp;R shift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d help Allen, and I’d help everyone else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time was running out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Thursday, May 19, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>While I was eating breakfast, a slim hand snaked in and grabbed my bacon. I barely reacted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, you’re looking almost as ragged as your costume, Core.” I looked up to see Lisa, dressed in civilian clothing and a domino mask today. She smiled, and I looked back down at my food instead of returning it. “Too bad Circus showed up and stole Parian, or I’d ask her to help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be fine.” I didn’t need her to point it out, but since I hadn’t taken my costume off in days it was getting pretty nasty. The jacket and pants were fine, but the bodysuit was starting to fray...as well as my mask. I had to stay ready.  “What are you doing here, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Despite all the data I gave them, the PRT’s messing with my deal. That incoming Director wants Alec and I shipped off to some Wards summer camp in San Diego, and they won’t let me talk to him face-to-face. I mean, I know I’m a Thinker, but they’ve got his whole floor locked down!” She stole more of my bacon, crunching on it as I finished off my eggs. “Plus, I wanted to chew you out for inspiring Taylor to ask me to move in with her and Danny. Seriously, what the-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do it.” I must have startled her, because she dropped the bacon. “I know that she used to have feelings for you, but this isn’t that. She wants to help you, and right now you need all the help-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, I get it! Look, she stayed my friend, even after everything that’s happened. Worse, when she looks at me now, it’s different. It’s like she’s seeing...” She trailed off, then shook her head and sighed. “I don’t know. I did so much terrible crap, but she claims she’s forgiven me. I’m afraid to look at her with my powers and see how she really feels, because I can’t bear to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Core!” Glory Girl called out, and I shot to my feet. A look at the clock told me I’d lost track of time. I had people who needed me! “We’re heading out, you can schmooze later!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Coming! Gotta go, too many people still need help. Time’s running out.” I guzzled down my orange juice, reminded of all the people I’d failed. There were only a few days left, so I had to work even harder. Lisa stared at me, her face falling as I saw her powers flicker. “Later!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I waited for the crowd at the door to clear, I glanced back and saw Lisa jog over to another table. Vista and Shadow Stalker were there, and they leaned in her direction as she started talking to them. All three of them looked at me, and I waved before heading out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe if I worked hard enough today, it would mean less work for the rest of them?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Friday, May 20, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>When I woke on Friday, I wasn’t sure if it was Saturday or Friday...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dozed for a moment, remembering how a few Saturdays ago I’d been cooking breakfast for my family, laughing and having a great time. George, Mom, Dad, and I, all together...at home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I woke up, on the frayed cot the PRT had assigned me, and remembered that everything was still broken. That I was running out of time. That there was still so much to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though I wasn’t hungry, I made my way to the cafeteria out of habit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I stopped in the doorway, seeing Taylor and Lisa sitting at one of the tables. Neither saw me, and for a moment I was tempted to see how they were doing. Maybe I could apologize for running out on Lisa...was it yesterday? The day before?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I combed my foggy mind for the exact date, I saw Taylor take Lisa’s hand and place a key in it, then fold her fingers closed. Lisa started to say something, but Taylor covered her mouth with a finger and said something that made the other girl sag a little. Lisa started shaking her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor drew the blonde into a hug, one she slowly returned. It felt like an eternity before they separated, both wiping at their eyes, and then laughed at something Taylor said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling, I turned and left. I could eat later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe if I worked hard enough, they could take a break. That way, they could stay happy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for some reason it was hard to get everyone else to concentrate. I ended up in a search and rescue group with Shadow Stalker and Vista, but both kept trying to get me to take a break. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was like that all day. A few other Wards tried to interrupt me, but I told them I had work to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sveta and Yamada called me on a conference call, but I told them I’d call them back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>My parents, George, and Larry all called, but I let them go to voicemail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Armsmaster told me to meet him at the hospital, but I forgot to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I just kept working, because I couldn’t stop...not yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not while people still needed my help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <b>[Saturday, May 21, 2011]</b>
</p><p>
  <span>I didn’t really sleep Friday night, and ended up going to the hospital around sunup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few hours of healing, Strider came in for a checkup. I had replaced his missing arm on Monday (Tuesday?), and was happy to make time to check on it. We stepped into a side room, he pushed his sleeve up, and I touched his ar-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, we were in Acting Director Renick’s office, the teleport so quiet I barely heard it. Before I could copy Strider’s power and get back to work, he vanished again with hardly a whisper. Renick appeared beside me, as if he’d teleported as well, and smiled at me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He led me into a side room and asked me to change into scrubs for a checkup. Apparently I was last on the list, and as Renick took my costume to get cleaned he promised it would be quick. A PRT doctor swept in and got to work, as well as asking a lot of strange questions. I answered as best I could, but it was hard to think...hard to talk...time kind of blurred for a bit...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I was back in Renick’s office, my costume nowhere to be seen, slouching into my chair as he lectured me. He pointed out the condition of my costume, my decreased body weight, the huge bags under my eyes, and that everyone was worried about me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was humiliating, and nonsense! He accused me of overworking myself! Like that mattered!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tried to counter with the fact that people were still suffering, that I had powers, and I had sworn an oath to help. The E88 and ABB were committing crimes as of this morning, they had new capes that had recently triggered, and there were even new solo villains!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t a little suffering on my part worth helping people in need?” I growled, standing up and waving a hand at the window. There was still smoke, suffering, and fear in my town. I staggered, then added, “Besides, you’re getting rid of me tomorrow, anyway! Am I so useless that I can’t-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough!” Renick rarely raised his voice, but even with a few extra decibels it was enough to silence me. I felt like an idiot, and turned to trudge away, but felt his hand on my shoulder as he came up beside me. “Come with me, I want to show you something. Something secret.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I walked alongside Renick as we traveled down the hall, up the stairs, and to another office area. A sign said that capes weren’t allowed up here, but Renick was willing to bend the rules. I could hear a commotion ahead, and he motioned for me to stop. Renick whispered for me to peer around the corner and look. I could hear laughter, voices, and shuffling paper, and saw…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A large group of people, all gathered around someone who stood head and shoulders above them all. Not just because of his commanding presence, but because he was literally a good foot taller than most of them. Agents in suits, officers in uniform, and analysts in casual clothing, all with a huge spread of food. All of them were drinking up every word the man was saying.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I couldn’t make most of it out, and couldn’t even see his face, but even from behind I could see that he had an aura of charisma. He spoke of the future, plans to fix the town, getting capes back into the workforce, and swore to make them all proud of him. They cheered, and I found myself transfixed by him, by the power he wielded, with words and...something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I barely said a word as Renick led me back the way we’d come, and onto an elevator. That man had seemed so powerful, and there was something else that my exhausted mind kept trying to grasp. Something that set him apart from the others, but my mind was so hazy... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my replacement. Thomas Calvert.” Only when we were back in the elevator did Renick start talking, and now I could see the normally straight-backed soldier start to fold in on himself a bit. “Despite all my years of service, it only took a few words from him to get everyone on his side. He doesn’t even start for a week, and he’s already taking over. It’s like he always knows just what to say, never makes mistakes, and...I know how you feel, Greg. Change is scary.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you’re just giving up?” I felt my mind whirling, something I’d noticed just at the edge of my mind, but I couldn’t concentrate. Seeing Renick like this was...heartbreaking. “You’re quitting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Greg. I’m picking my battles. I’m making sure that the people I leave behind remember me well, and that I take care of everyone I care about.” The elevator doors opened, and he gently pushed me out into the lobby. “That includes you. Go home and think about how you want the people you leave behind to remember you. Trust me, it doesn’t involve you burning out like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator doors closed before I could argue, and a PRT agent marched me to a car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After I was dropped off at home, I found it hard to follow Renick’s directions. I wanted to be remembered for helping, but I’d been banned from helping! It didn’t make any sense!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>My room was carefully packed up, and I could tell that George had done it because of how neat it all was. Books here, clothes there, and...notes from my family. It hurt my heart to see their words, and I couldn’t bear to read them all the way through. To see them try to make me feel better about leaving my friends behind, abandoning my town in its hour of need...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I dozed off on my bed, waking up hours later to a call from my parents. They had heard from Renick that I was at home, and would be here in an hour. I panicked, then lied and replied that I was hanging out with friends for my last night. They allowed it, but sounded kind of hurt...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shower, fresh clothes, and my favorite jacket, and I trudged back into town. I ended up at the Boardwalk, sitting on my favorite bench and watching the sun set in Brockton Bay one last time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Here I am. Sitting on a bench. Wasting time when people need me. With so little time left...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So here you are.” Lisa sat beside me, and I turned to see her looking off into the distance. No mask or costume for her, either. She was just in jeans, a sweater, and sneakers. “Sitting on a bench, thinking that taking some time for yourself is wasting time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up.” I grumbled, trying to ignore her. “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasting time. I could be doing something useful, but some dumbass tattled on me and now I’m literally benched from helping.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, since you know I like getting credit, I’ll just tell you that it was me.” She wiggled her eyebrows at me, and I turned away with a growl. I couldn’t even bear to look at her, messing with me like this. “Oh, I’m not messing with you, I mean </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tattletale</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s in the name. You dodged Shadow Stalker, Vista, the Wards, your parents, and even Armsmaster, so I went to Renick.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wanted to be useful.” I whispered, hanging my head. “One last time, before I...leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at me for a long minute, and then her hand squeezed my shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard about your trip to San Diego, and I get why you’ve been working so hard. I...know how scary change can be.” She stood and started to pace, her words slowly speeding up as she started listing things off. “Tomorrow, Brian’s joining the Protectorate. Theo’s joining the Wards. Rachel and Alec and I are being shipped to San Diego. On top of all that, Taylor’s trying to convince her Dad to adopt me! Everything’s changing! I should be freaking out! But...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you’re not.” I wanted it to be a question, but it came out as a statement. She looked so happy, like she knew something I didn’t. So brave... “You’re not scared at all, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, because I know that everyone else is freaked out, too. That we’re going to look out for each other, even when </span>
  <em>
    <span>some of us</span>
  </em>
  <span> are too dumb to look out for ourselves.” She crossed her arms, glaring at me. “You nearly worked yourself into a coma, Greg. All because what...you thought we were going to fall apart without you? That all this destruction was your fault? Bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My own parents even warned me, and I still overdid it. I forgot how strong my friends are...</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tonight, I’m throwing a going-away party for everyone.” Lisa made jazz hands, a smile appearing. “Taylor’s got music, Rachel’s got puppies, and Allen made so much food we could barely fit it in Danny’s car. We’ve got loads of people coming...Theo, Missy, Sophia, Carlos, Amy, Hunch, Weld, Aisha, and of course you. Might even get a few surprise guests...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was embarrassed, surprised that she invited me after I ignored her help all week...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going away, too. So you have to come, whether you like it or not.” Lisa held out a hand. “Now, are you going to come and have a great time, or am I going to have to kidnap you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The party was amazing. No masks, no costumes, just a bunch of friends hanging out and trying to have fun. It was hard to just relax, knowing that so many people needed help. But I tried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, I learned that everyone else felt the same way I had. Everyone wished they had been faster, stronger, braver…and swore that next time they would be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I talked to the villains I knew and thanked them for giving me unique perspectives, even if talking to them was one of the reasons I was going to San Diego.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I talked to the heroes I knew and thanked them for helping me become so strong, and swore I’d pass on their lessons when I was in San Diego.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renick crashed the party eventually, glad that I had taken his advice...and willing to ignore the fact that Alec had given me a beer or two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m a bit of a lightweight, because I started babbling about cool powers I’d seen at one point, but nobody stopped me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not even when I accidentally unmasked Mr. Calvert, talking about how cool his powers had looked earlier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renick and Lisa wanted to know more about his powers, so I copied Lisa’s power to try and explain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I blended Hunch’s precog with Lisa’s power, all three of us talking faster and faster to figure it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Renick got really mad, calling the Chief Director about how Calvert hadn’t disclosed his powers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa got really happy, calling Armsmaster to say she’d made a breakthrough on Coil.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was glad to help, and went around reading palms with Hunch until I passed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I forgot most of the night, between the beer and Thinker confusion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I woke up, they told me I didn’t have to go to San Diego.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calvert was being investigated, his decisions under review.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rachel still wanted to go. Alec thought it was a vacation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But as for me? I was staying here, with my friends...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taylor, Theo, Allen, Lisa, and all of the Wards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lead by Piggot, Renick, Hannah, and Colin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With my team and my mentors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With my family and my town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Learning to be a hero.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next time on From Hated to Hero: Two chapters left! Not everyone is a hero, but that doesn’t mean they can’t make an impact. In the Arc 3 Epilogue, time (and people) move forward. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0056"><h2>56. Arc 3 Epilogue: Moving Forward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AN: Just a note that there will be one more chapter after this, as a Finale to the story. Also, I intend to post a sort of “Postmortem” afterwards, with both things I learned and stuff that I could have done better. Finally, I’ve got 5-7 deleted scenes I’ll be posting after that, scenes that were really fun to write but didn’t have a place in the story.</p><p>Now, because it wouldn’t be Worm without a timeskip at some point, let’s jump ahead and look in on some non-Greg characters. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey boss, how was lunch?”</p><p>“I keep telling you, you don’t need to call me boss. I only graduated highschool a few days ago, and I’m a month younger than you.” Taylor sighed, then held up a hand to stave off whatever excuse was coming her way. “Let’s walk and talk. How are things going so far today?”</p><p>“Well, our newest employee called out sick today, but I checked his social media and discovered he got a 2013 Season Pass to that new water park near Boston. He’s been live-streaming from there all day. I emailed Sparky that this is his second strike, so hopefully it’ll straighten him out. I’ve also moved him to Forrest’s shift, because if anyone can teach responsibility it’s Forrest.”</p><p>As if hearing them, Forrest looked up from the Rottweiler he was examining and waved, then carefully returned to changing its bandages. The E88’s dog fighting rings were few and far between, especially since they barely had any capes these days, but they still happened. This dog had been brought in a few weeks ago, and the big man had practically adopted it already. </p><p>“Speaking of having fun, how was the date I set up for you? Better than the last one?”</p><p>“Well, given that the last one went off on a rant about ‘who would win, Lichtenberg or Lung,’ yeah. Good movie, nice meal, and we had a lot in common.” Taylor felt bad as she saw eyes light up, then shook her head sadly. “But when I brought up a second date, it was a no. Sorry.”</p><p>“Bah, their loss. I’m the one who should be sorry. I’ll do better next time.” Madison dropped her eyes, rubbing at one of the little scars barely visible on her chin. “I owe you so much, Taylor...”</p><p>“Madison, I already told you, we’re even. You don’t have to keep-” Taylor paused as the other girl tapped her ear, stepping away to take a call. She was a natural, unsurprisingly.</p><p>It hadn’t been easy to forgive her for what she’d done, even after community service and a written apology. But when Madison had shown up to a job interview at Help Hounds, Lisa claimed that she was different. Something about her had changed, and Taylor soon realized that even if some of Madison’s scars would never fully fade, not all wounds lasted forever.</p><p>“Please hold.” Madison returned, her face immediately falling as she tapped a button. “Taylor, the PRT is on Line 3. It’s about that expansion project...again. Want me to call up Susan-”</p><p>“No, I think I’m done playing around. I’ll take it in my office in a few minutes. Anything else?”</p><p>“Ah, two things actually. First, you got another one of those letters in your office.” Madison leaned in, looking nervous as she whispered in Taylor’s ear. “Second, Lisa’s in your office, despite your request. I know you left orders not to let her in, but she can pick locks.”</p><p>“It’s fine Mads, I’ll handle it.” Taylor patted the girl on the shoulder, smiling and moving past her. She paused, looking back as she stepped inside, “Great work, as always.”</p><p>Madison’s eyes lit up, and she skipped off as Taylor quietly closed the door to her office. Her unwelcome guest was either ignoring or unaware of her, so Taylor deftly spun her chair around.</p><p>“I’m pretty sure I told you to take a few days off, Lisa.” The same cold tone she’d been taught by Rachel herself made the other girl freeze, and even before the blonde could make an excuse Taylor was looming over her. “Go on vacation. That’s a direct order from your boss. Go.”</p><p>“I don’t need a vacation. There’s too-” Lisa stopped, Taylor’s finger over her lips. Lisa’s eyes widened, probably remembering <em> that </em>day. Just after Leviathan, when she’d invited Lisa to live with her, and had silenced the blonde the same way. Lisa had told her after the fact that the reason she’d broken down was because her powers had overwhelmed her with just how much Taylor cared about her. Now, she swatted at Taylor’s hand, “I can’t abandon-”</p><p>“Go on vacation, or I’m telling Dad, and he’ll be very disappointed in you.” Lisa frowned as Taylor crossed her arms, and cursed herself for teaching the girl negotiation tactics. She tried to counter, but Taylor shook her head “This isn’t a discussion. If you want me to escalate, I can have Forrest come in here and throw you out. Is that what you want?”</p><p>“Fine.” Lisa growled, grabbing her bag. “I’m going! Why the hell are you acting like this?”</p><p>“Sorry, but you’re my sister, and Heberts aren’t allowed to skip vacations.” Lisa stomped out of the office, slamming the door behind her, but not before Taylor shouted, “Love ya, sis!”</p><p>Smiling, Taylor put her earpiece in and tapped the button for Line 3. She was riding the high of getting one over on Lisa, so she decided to have fun with the PRT representative. “Taylor Hebert here. You have two minutes to convince me our expansion is a bad idea. Starting...now.”</p><p>“Um, okay.” The agent sounded young, and quickly recovered after Taylor’s tone put her on the back foot. “Well, first of all, employing parahumans in the way you’re suggesting may seem like a good idea on paper, but in the real world your business is going to run afoul of lawsuits, supervillains, taxes, and all sorts of insurance-”</p><p>“Nope, this isn’t a business. It’s a charity. We rescue dogs, take care of them, train them, and then let people adopt them.”</p><p>“But the amount of money you’ve been making has been-”</p><p>“People donate money to us all the time. I didn’t see you going after Doctors Without Borders after they recruited Panacea. They made a mint after she joined last year.” Taylor was pretty sure Amy only joined to get away from all the attention she got from what she did to Jack Slash. “Why are we getting singled out? Because of our founder’s past as a villain?”</p><p>“Hellhound’s crimes are not the topic here.” The agent’s voice turned cold, and Taylor grinned at making her go off script. “But since you brought it up, are you aware that several of the capes you’re hiring have criminal records? Why, two of them are Heartbreaker’s-”</p><p>“I can conference my lawyer Susan in on this call if you want. You heard of her? Joined New Wave last year, goes by Dovetail in costume?” She waited a few seconds, then went on. “I bring her up because I seem to recall that after the bitch formerly known as Purity and the rest of her squad killed Heartbreaker, Susan got his kids a deal. The two I’m hiring did their time in the Parahuman Asylum, and now they want to help hounds. Got a problem with that?”</p><p>The agent started to talk, but her time had run out five seconds ago, so Taylor sighed.</p><p>“Look, I have better things to do than argue, so I’ll make this simple. I wasn’t calling to ask for permission.” The agent dropped something that broke, and Taylor grinned. “I got approval almost a year ago already, from the IRS, Watchdog, and even Rebecca Costa-Brown herself.”</p><p>“What?!” Something broke in the background. “Then...why did you make us go through all this?”</p><p>“Whether it was the E88, the Teeth, Thomas Calvert, or so many others, the PRT has been amazing these past few years with parahuman problems. Your team found every weakness, every minor problem in our plans, and that let us fix them.” Taylor remembered the long hours of training and planning with Lisa and Danny, and how Help Hounds had grown so much in the last year. “I want you to look back on this day in a decade and be proud. To know that the reason Help Hounds is so successful and has made so many people happy is because of <em> your </em> efforts.”</p><p>The PRT agent hung up.</p><p>Shrugging, Taylor pulled her earpiece out and picked up the letter Madison had left her. Though she was tempted to toss it in the folder with all the others like it, she forced herself to read.</p><p>
  <em> Dear Taylor, </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m sorry. I’m so...so sorry. I treated my best friend like garbage, and I know I can never make it up to you. I know you’ve never written back, but I’m going to be leaving the hospital soon, and- </em>
</p><p>Sighing, Taylor slipped it into the thick folder marked with Emma’s name. She’d gotten one of these every week for the last year, but had never felt like it was the right time to write back. Her life was infinitely more complicated than dealing with an ex-friend, and people depended on her.</p><p>Even now, by coming in on her day off, there was plenty to do. Alec had requested more money for his walkabout in Australia, she had an expansion to start, Madison was in her window holding up a printed dating profile, Lisa would try to avoid her vacation, and so much more. </p><p>Instead of worrying about the past, Taylor looked forward to the future.</p><p>***</p><p>“-I’m just glad Aisha’s grades got her into that fancy school you found.” Celia balanced the phone between her shoulder and cheek, taking money from a customer and handing off a pamphlet with instructions. The burly man smiled, then turned to leave the shop. “I never could get her to study, not sure how you pulled it off. Guess all I was good for was her looks, eh?”</p><p>“<em> Don’t say that, Ma </em> .” Brian sounded exhausted, and she wondered if it was because of his latest training schedule. He’d been pushing himself to the limit all year, since his new job was going to involve training capes and PRT agents. “ <em> We’ve both told you a dozen times, you were in a bad place. Ever since you entered the program, got cleaned up, and- </em>”</p><p>“Stopped using needles to get high? Yeah, I know. My new needles are way better, because they make art.” Celia sighed, looking down at her arm and the tattoo of a sea of stars that ran across it. Only someone who knew where to look would see that a few of the stars were track marks. “I love you, Brian. Not sure if I said that yet today, but...what the heck is that?”</p><p>“<em> Ma? </em> ” Brian’s voice sounded panicked, and she cursed herself for getting him worked up. She waved at the woman outside her window, and frowned upon being ignored. “ <em> Everything okay? </em>”</p><p>“Sorry, just saw your friend Lisa stalk by, looking pissed off. That girl really needs a vacation.” The blonde may have had the devil’s tongue, but she’d also paid for Aisha’s tutoring...as well as getting this little shop off the ground. “Anyway, speaking of running, I’d better get going.”</p><p>“<em> Okay, love you Ma </em>.” She felt a warm thrill run through her as Brian hung up, and turned a sunny smile towards the customer that had just walked in. </p><p>“Welcome to Clean Slate, I’m Celia! How can I help you?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m...Hans. I wanted to get some work done.” The boy was maybe in his early twenties, pale and wearing heavy clothing. Shaggy brown hair hung down over his eyes, but she could see he wasn’t even looking at her as he asked, “You do covers?”</p><p>“Sure, I actually offer a small discount for first time customers, and if you have more than one I can do a package deal.” She pulled a few binders off her shelf and opened them up on the desk, gesturing at the designs, artwork, and symbols that she offered. “Can I get a look at the original tattoo, so I can put together a ballpark on time and price for you?”</p><p>Hans looked up at her, and flinched for some reason. Celia could only imagine his story, what had brought him into her tattoo parlor, and prayed that he didn’t just turn and leave. She kept her hands on the desk, trying to smile reassuringly at him.</p><p>“Um...okay. I just want to say first that I don’t...hate you. I left that life behind years ago, and I just...I’m sorry.” He looked around again, even though they were alone, and then lifted his sleeves. On each bicep was a symbol she knew and hated.</p><p>“Empire 88.” The gang’s name was burned in Celia’s mind, and filled her with bad memories. Months ago, she might have thrown the boy out of her tattoo parlor. Years ago she might have attacked him. But now, she asked, “Why did you wait so long to get them covered?”</p><p>“It’s dumb, but...whenever people saw them, they’d treat me like crap. I work at a gym, so people saw them a lot.” He looked back down at his feet, as if gathering himself for some great effort, then continued. “I spent years treating people like garbage because of their skin, what they believed, who they loved...and I thought I deserved to suffer for that. No community service or lip service can ever pay back what I did, so I kept them. They were like my penance...”</p><p>“So what changed?” Celia noticed he was wearing a New Wave T-shirt, one that had all their new members on it as well, like the tentacle girl with the Omega face tat and the one who made suns. She opened the hero binder and let him flip through, before he pointed at two symbols roughly the size of his own tattoos. “If this was your penance, why suddenly give up on it?”</p><p>He appeared to be deep in thought, so she had flipped the sign on the door and led him to the back room. By the time she returned with a tray of tools, Hans had taken off his shirt, revealing a physique that was a close second to Brian’s. As she prepped, he started to talk again.</p><p>“A week ago, my best friend Carlos invited me to join him on a beach volleyball team. Him and his...boyfriend, Allen.” He winced at the cold disinfectant she brushed on his arms, then frowned at his own reaction. “I warned him about my tattoos, told him why I kept them, and he just shook his head. Told me that it was okay to hate the person I used to be, but that I didn’t have to hate the person I am now. He told me to move forward with my life...”</p><p>He trailed off, looking uncomfortable, and she asked, “So you work at a gym? Which one?”</p><p>“Compensation.” He started to flex a little, then remembered she was holding a sharp needle and froze. “I’m um...assistant manager. My boss, Deacon, has me teaching self-defense, too.”</p><p>“No shit?” Celia laughed suddenly, shaking her head as she finished setting up her tools. “My son Brian used to work there. Did you know him?”</p><p>“Are you kidding me? Brian had my back when some of my ex-friends tried to re-recruit me.” Hans laughed, finally relaxing a little. “Small world, huh?”</p><p>“No kidding.” Celia tapped the tattoos Hans had chosen. “Last chance to change your mind...”</p><p>Hans looked at the symbol of Assault, the fallen hero who had gotten him a job that changed his life, and Core...a Ward who had checked in on him many times over the years.</p><p>A few hours later, he moved on with his life, despite the pain.</p><p>***</p><p>Sandra and Stanley Veder had spent their entire lives pushing forward, actively working to follow their passions and succeed in life. Stanley got his medical license, Sandra put her excellent memory towards becoming a Librarian, and both loved their children. They were creatures of hard work, and that made their current situation rather tough to adapt to.</p><p>In fact, it was because of their children that both had ended up here, sunning themselves on comfy chairs and listening to the ocean drift against sand. This resort that Greg and George had convinced them to visit had a cost neither ever thought they’d be able to pay, but their sons had handled it with ease. Both boys agreed their parents needed a break.</p><p>Greg was about to graduate from the Wards, and was talking about teaching at the new Wards Training School being built in New York. George was part of an organization that kept capes from breaking the world’s socio-economic landscape, and might someday be leading it. Both said this vacation was what their parents deserved, for all they’d done...but Stanley and Sandra knew that their own sacrifices paled in comparison to those of true heroes.</p><p>For instance, just a month ago Eidolon had accidentally killed the Butcher, then swore to the other heroes he was going to save everyone...before vanishing into a glowing door. Some Thinkers said he was on another Earth, holding back the Butcher’s evil power. Others claimed he was why the Endbringers had skipped their most recent attack...but nobody knew for sure. </p><p>Compared to a man like that, raising two children seemed like nothing. Yet Greg and George insisted, and so here they were. Pretending they were fine with just...retiring.</p><p>Sandra was so happy when her phone rang, the Tinkertech device getting a signal even out on this island. Ever since that Masamune fellow got into smartphones, suddenly everyone seemed to have a phone that had at least a little Tinkertech in it. Unfortunately, the call only lasted a few minutes, as Greg’s friend Lisa checked in on them. The girl sounded so stressed out...</p><p>Before Sandra could ask why she wasn’t on vacation as well, a younger voice interrupted and the connection cut off. Then it was back to this simulated retirement...and trying to relax.</p><p>That night, as they walked back to their hotel after a sumptuous meal, Sandra saw a familiar face and told Stanley to go on up to the room. She said she was going to walk around a little bit, and perhaps grab a bottle from the bar for them. They shared a kiss, then parted ways.</p><p>In a coincidence that Sandra had long since grown used to, the otherwise empty resort bar held one other person. She didn’t even question the privacy of their meeting, and merely sat at the table across from a woman she saw yearly, almost like clockwork.</p><p>“Hello Sandra, I hope you’re enjoying your vacation?” No matter how many times Sandra saw her, Becca never seemed to age a day. Hispanic, dark hair, a small smile, and a body that looked as if she was in her twenties. Aside from a tiny scar near her eye that she’d picked up a while back, she was still perfect. “I was so happy to see you earlier. How’s Stanley?”</p><p>“Oh, he’s fine, Becca. The boys are doing fine as well.” Sandra smiled, sliding her hand across the table and not even flinching as one capable of crushing a car touched it. “Ever since you supported Greg’s decision during Leviathan, he’s really been more caring and idealistic.”</p><p>“Well, I can’t take all the credit.” Becca shrugged, and then withdrew her hand and looked away. “I used to be pretty idealistic as well. In fact, that was sort of your fault.”</p><p>Both laughed, and Sandra’s mind went back decades in but a moment. As a preteen, she’d tried to beat loneliness by writing fan letters to all her favorite authors. How happy she had been one day to get a letter back from Isabella Costa-Brown...and even happier to find a letter from the woman’s daughter, Becca. The author thought they could fight loneliness together, as pen-pals.</p><p>Becca made Sandra feel better when she started to get bullied at school, and Sandra tried to keep Becca positive when her sickness put her in the hospital. Neither came out and said that the sickness may have been fatal. Instead, Sandra prayed for her friend, and God saved her.</p><p>Years later, she was visited at her library by an unusually friendly Alexandria. Later that week, she heard a press conference that Rebecca Costa-Brown was giving, and noted that both women had similar inflections to their words. A month later, Rebecca showed up at her house and played with little George. She laughed so hard at Greg’s antics as a toddler, far later on.</p><p>In the years that followed they continued to meet at the strangest times. Neither acknowledged that Alexandria and Becca were one person. Theirs was a relationship built on trust, and a long history of unspoken words. Even now, it was as if they were just two old friends, nothing more.</p><p>“Well, I should be getting back to Stanley, before he comes looking for me.” Back in the present, the two separated after a long hug, and Sandra collected a bottle of champagne. “I’m surprised to see you relaxing at a resort. Didn’t you once say if you took a vacation, the world would end?”</p><p>“True, the idea of a vacation always seemed impossible before, since my team and I thought that so many depended on us to be ever-vigilant.” Rebecca walked alongside Sandra, then paused as they reached the hotel lobby. “But a few weeks ago, something amazing happened that changed everything for us. Something...impossible. While my boss tries to figure it out, she told us to take some time off. So a few of us came here, our first vacation in a long time...”</p><p>“Your team?” Sandra squinted, since none of the people Becca waved to looked anything like the members of the Los Angeles Protectorate. “Who are they?”</p><p>“My friends, my team, my family...all apply.” Becca approached the small group waiting for her near a large suite they seemed to be sharing. A thin man with glasses had his arm around a beautiful blonde in yellow, and a woman in a hat who smiled as Becca approached. She turned back, winking at her friend. “I hope you enjoy your time off, as well. See you next time, Sandra.”</p><p>The group of four entered their suite, all talking and laughing about something, while Sandra returned to her husband with renewed happiness. Maybe retirement wouldn’t be so bad...</p><p>But much like the end of the world, it was still a long ways out.</p><p>***</p><p>“I’m going, I’m going.” Lisa grumbled, the Ward refusing to release her arm as the blonde was dragged towards the door. “Look, I promised Greg I would make sure his parents arrived at their resort without any hiccups, so I just needed to use a phone with a secure connection.”</p><p>“You have one of the best Tinkertech phones in the world, so we both know that’s bullshit.” Vista gave her a little shove, firmly removing her from the PRT room she’d been hiding out in. Taylor had called and asked Missy to check on her sister, and she never passed up a chance to mess with the blonde. “You could have done it while on vacation. Doesn’t your flight leave soon?”</p><p>“Why is everyone bugging me about the vacation thing?” Lisa considered trying to push past the other girl, but Missy had shot up like a weed in the past few years and was now almost as tall as her. Choosing a different tactic, she hung her head, “Fine, I’m heading home right now…”</p><p>Lisa made it about half a block before noticing that Vista was following her. “What now?”</p><p>“Your house is the other way.”</p><p>“I know that, but Golem and Shadow Stalker are doing an interview I set up for them, and I just wanted to check in on them before I go.” She clasped her hands, begging the Wards Leader to give her some leeway. “I promise I’ll go right after this little stop. You can even come with me!”</p><p>A few minutes later, both were outside a locked green room door, waiting for the inhabitants to let them in. It hadn’t escaped either that the muffled noises coming from within had suddenly stopped when Lisa knocked, and they traded a glance as they continued to wait.</p><p>“So, wanna bet that Theo finally pops the question on this little trip they’re taking?”</p><p>“No bet.” Vista rolled her eyes at the blonde’s comment. “He’s been carrying that ring box around for weeks. I think the only reason he didn’t already ask was because he was trying to get her mother to give permission.”</p><p>“Jackie?” Lisa raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to use her power. “I thought she moved to Illinois, to be near Terry in that Supermax prison? Why even ask her?”</p><p>“No idea. Vera and Hannah already gave him the okay a month ago.” Vista shrugged, smiling. “But you know Theo. He refuses to give up on anyone, so he just kept asking until she gave in.”</p><p>The door finally opened, and both Wards invited the pair to join them inside. Shadow Stalker had been hiding behind the door, and ghosted through it to tackle Vista like she always did.</p><p>It took Vista a whole minute of wrestling and laughing with her best friend to realize that Lisa had given her the slip. Theo and Sophia assured her it would be okay, and she believed them.</p><p>Instead, they went out to see <em> Breakneck 5: A Good Day to Break Necks </em>.</p><p>***</p><p>“Break time! Everyone out of the water!” Danny Hebert clicked the button on his bullhorn a few times, sending out a blast of noise in case he hadn’t been heard. “Repeat! Break time!”</p><p>With what was becoming an ever-present grin on his face, he headed to the rest tent and waited for his workers to arrive. They approached in groups, talking about all manner of subjects, and happily partook of the food provided. A small sign told everyone that today’s spread had been provided by City of Gyros, a Greek place that had opened last month.</p><p>It made him proud to see everyone working together like this, and not just because of what they were doing for him. Besides his Dockworkers, there were several capes he knew by name, and had to be careful not to unmask them by accident. He saw them as friends, either way.</p><p>Over there were Allen and Carlos, hardly apart in costume or out, laughing about something. Past them was Luke, practically their MVP with how he could move huge debris with a touch, chatting with a redhead in a wheelchair who always came to visit him. The rest of today’s team was at the back of the tent, talking about strategy as they looked over the map.</p><p>“-but I think we can move faster if we focus on the bigger ones first, especially with that anti-gravity gun Realize made.” Danny paused as he heard a voice he hadn’t expected. Moving through the crowd, he came up behind a certain blonde as she interrupted the Tinker in question. “You did it last month, so don’t try to tell me it’s not possible! The power cells-”</p><p>“I’m not saying it’s not possible Lisa.” The Tinker formerly known as Kid Win held up a hand, then gestured at the Boat Graveyard. “But I think we could do it better. Glace and Fuse worked together to make some cryo-bombs, so I was thinking we could freeze the water around the debris first. A bit of anti-grav, and once they’re in drydock Sundancer can melt the ice. Mars?”</p><p>“I’m game to try.” Sundancer shrugged, far more relaxed at being the center of attention thanks to Victoria’s training. The PRT had given her a reduced sentence in exchange for work like this, and taught her a lot about accountability. When the offer to join New Wave had come, she’d jumped at the chance. “Too bad we’re gonna kill so many fish, tossing bombs in the water...”</p><p>“No worries, Continue and I made something that’s keeping the fish and wildlife away.” Realize reached out and took her hand, Sundancer’s eyes lighting up behind her mask. “I was inspired by that MMO you got me into. We call it ‘The Tutorial Zone,’ I thought you’d like that.”</p><p>“That’s not the only thing I like.” Danny looked away as the two walked out of the tent together, the former villain giving her boyfriend a peck on the cheek. “Tell me more about it…”</p><p>“They’ll be at that for a while, so in the meantime-” Lisa was cut off as Danny cleared his throat.</p><p>“In the meantime, I find myself wondering why my daughter is here instead of on vacation.”</p><p>“Danny, I told you this morning that I had too much to do.” Lisa started to walk away, but Danny had learned this trick a long time ago and knew better. He followed her outside of the tent, and she growled before whirling to face him. “Look, this is an important job, I can’t just leave it to-”</p><p>“To the man who’s been dreaming of doing it for years?” Danny smiled, and saw Lisa’s face turn red. It had been almost a year since she’d found the dusty binder in what had become her room, and he still remembered telling her all about his dream. About cleaning up the Boat Graveyard, getting the ferry running, and all of the obstacles in his way. “I thought this was your gift to me?”</p><p>She had no answer for that, because it was true...this had been her way of trying to pay him back for taking her in. For adopting her, and fighting for her even after her biological parents popped up back in 2012. The things Danny had said, telling them off alongside Taylor...</p><p>So Lisa had thrown herself into paying him back. She got crowdfunding and sponsorships from local businesses. She leveraged Dinah to convince her uncle to cut the red tape (thanks to her powers saying it would get him re-elected as Mayor). Finally, Lisa put together a volunteer program for capes, dockworkers, and even average people to help out.  </p><p>“Lisa, sweetie...I love you so much.” Danny gently put his arms around his daughter, and could feel that she wanted to return the gesture. Even though she was so much smarter and more powerful than him, he knew that sometimes she still had to be reminded of things like this. “The fact that you're doing this for me and everyone else makes me so happy. But I want <em>you</em> to be happy, too.”</p><p>“Helping you like this makes me happy! I thought...” Lisa pulled away, looking into his face with a look of fear. “I thought cleaning up the Boat Graveyard would make you happy!”</p><p>“It does make me happy. You and Taylor have made me that happiest dad in the world. But it’s hard for me to relax when I know that you’re so overworked. Please, take some time off, okay?”</p><p>“Sure. I’ll get right on that.” Lisa nodded, wiping at her eyes and staggering away. She slipped into the tent and grabbed her bag, then jogged off. “I just have a few errands to run.”</p><p>Danny knew she was deflecting, and used the phone Taylor had bought him to update their “Lisa Needs a Vacation” Group Chat.</p><p>Then he stretched, grabbed the bullhorn off his belt, and headed back inside.</p><p>There was work to be done, if he wanted his dream to come true.</p><p>So many had already come true, but why stop there?</p><p>***</p><p>“I thought you were on vacation. Why’re you working on a vacation?” </p><p>“I’m not on vacation because there’s too much to do, and I’m working because nobody else is going to do it.” Lisa didn’t even look over her shoulder at Aisha. “Sometimes I wonder if any of you realize just how much depends on me being there to keep things running.”</p><p>“Izzat why you’re hiding in my room?” Aisha threw a pillow at her, and Lisa ignored the impact. The four stuffed animals that followed were equally ignored, but the small dictionary made Lisa turn and glare. “Or maybe you know Taylor would force you to stop working and actually relax?”</p><p>“Speaking of relaxing, why aren’t you packed yet? I thought you were going on a trip in a few days.” Lisa deftly changed the subject, and tried not to smirk as Aisha took the bait. The girl flopped back on her bed, the thesaurus she’d been about to throw sliding to the floor. “Checking out the new apartment I got you two, near Brian’s new job, now that we got you into a good-”</p><p>“If you say ‘good’ in the same sentence ‘school’ then I’m gonna...shit, you made me say it!” Aisha let out a long-suffering moan and tried to hide her face under a pillow. “This is all your fault, bitch! You forced me to get all that stupid tutoring, and now I’ve gotta go to some stupid gifted school when we move to California this summer! Why’d you find Brian that job?”</p><p>Actually, it was Brian who had found the job, his skills in physical fitness, self-defense, and parahuman combat making him a shoe-in. After all, how many other people could put “killed Shatterbird” on their resume? Lisa had barely had to do anything to get Brian his dream job.</p><p>Instead, Lisa was going to remind Aisha that the sheer number of disasters in Brockton Bay in the past few years had made Brian’s decision to take his sister along an easy one...but she was interrupted by a loud knock at the door.</p><p>“Pizza’s here!” In an instant, the teen was running for the door, leaving Lisa confused since she didn’t remember Aisha ordering one. She was even more surprised when several pairs of feet returned, and turned to see Aisha grinning. “Hey, I tattled. It’s funny, because it was your name.”</p><p>Amy stared at Lisa with one eye, the other beneath an eyepatch. She claimed it had been worth it to get her hands on Jack Slash to kill him, and reminded her of what she might have become. Her girlfriend Delilah was on her arm, both whispering about plans for medical school. Lisa had helped the two of them through a few rough patches, and both were always checking on her.</p><p>Theo and Sophia, hardly ever apart, were grinning at the blonde. The former was carrying a hefty bag that probably had both their costumes in it, and the latter had slung an arm over her soon-to-be fiancee’s shoulder. She’d put her life on the line for Theo, Brian, Lisa, and so many others over the years, that the former vigilante had slowly become something like a friend.</p><p>Finally, Greg Veder was wearing a t-shirt with Eidolon on it, beach shorts with Miss Militia on them, and sandals that probably had Assault on their soles. He owed Lisa more than he could ever repay, and yet he’d also been the one to help Taylor give her a family. </p><p>He looked worried, and that was the worst part of all. </p><p>No, wait...he was talking. </p><p>That was worse.</p><p>“Lisa, you were supposed to meet us at the airport, what happened?”</p><p>“I have too much to do, Greg.” She started to get up, but paused when she saw that none of them were moving. “What? Are you going to give me some dumb lecture about-”</p><p>“Come on, I’d like to think you know me better than that by now.” Greg sighed, shaking his head, and she felt some relief. Then he added, “Of <em> course </em>I’ve going to give you a dumb lecture.”</p><p>Lisa briefly considered leaping out Aisha’s window, but decided not to. </p><p>“Look, I get it. You don’t think you need a vacation. You think everything is going to fall apart without you.” Greg stepped into the room, stopping a few feet away from her. “A few years ago, you found me on a bench after working myself to the bone for a week, trying to solve everyone’s problems. You forced me to take a break, even convincing the PRT to bench me.”</p><p>“What, so this is payback?” Lisa started to push past him, but he didn’t budge.</p><p>“No, this is an apology.” That made her stop, and she saw that he was staring down at his feet. “I’ve seen you the past year, pushing yourself so hard for everyone else. You helped Brian’s mom, got Theo into public speaking, taught Taylor to run Help Hounds, got Rachel that book deal, got Sveta released, started that Boat Graveyard project, and so much more…”</p><p>He trailed off, and for a moment she thought he was going to start crying. Instead, he sighed.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Lisa. I thought just asking you to take a vacation would be enough, but now I see that you’re just as afraid as I was back then. You don’t realize that we can all take care of ourselves, and that things won’t fall apart if you take a few days off.” He held out a hand, then motioned with it at the other people in the room. “We, all of your friends, want to thank you for doing so much for us. Please, won’t you come take a break, and celebrate your success with us?”</p><p>“I mean...I...I’d like to, but I don’t have anything packed.” Lisa cut herself off to catch something Aisha threw, and looked down to see it was a backpack. Lisa’s backpack, in fact. A quick pull at the zipper and she saw a bunch of her clothes folded up inside. “What, you can break into my house and pack my bags, but you can’t pack your own?”</p><p>“I work in mysterious ways.” Aisha shrugged, then grinned evilly. “Besides, you’re the one who taught me to pick locks. Now get going already, you gotta vacation to get to.”</p><p>“Fine.” Lisa sighed, then headed for the door. She stopped when she realized that nobody was moving. Instead, they all just grabbed her in a big group hug, holding her until Greg came and joined in. “Okay, great, we’re all friends. Can we go now? Don’t we have a plane to catch?”</p><p>“Nah, planes are too slow.” Greg laughed, hugging his friends. “Teleporting is way more fun.”</p><p>
  <em> POP </em>
</p><p>Lisa went on her first vacation in a very long time, with an amazing group of friends.</p><p>She also won $20 off Greg, when Theo finally proposed to Sophia.</p><p>Lisa used the money to buy them all pictures of the night.</p><p>It was an experience she never wanted to forget.</p><p>********************</p><p>Next time on From Hated to Hero: One more chapter to go! Time for the finale!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0057"><h2>57. Being a Hero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As I walked along the Boardwalk, I found myself comparing it to my memories from nearly a decade ago. Destroyed by Leviathan, left in shambles, the dozens of shops all flooded with their contents ruined. The people we’d lost, the buildings destroyed, and nobody ever thought that we’d bounce back from the senseless destruction of our lives... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now it was as if none of that had ever happened. The boat graveyard was cleared, the Docks enhanced, and Brockton Bay was one more the place everyone wanted to be. Not just trade, but tourism and everything else was at an all-time high. Heck, the ferry was even running again, and I made a mental note to pay Danny a visit later so he could brag about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Core!” I turned and saw a huge black-bearded fellow waving at me, as excited as a kid to see a hero. There was a petite brunette under his arm and a scarred old Rottweiler at his feet, both looking embarrassed. “Can we get a picture? We haven’t seen you in Brockton Bay in ages!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I felt a small pang of regret as I saw the rings on their fingers, but covered it up with a grin as I headed their way. Even with my friends and family reminding me to take time for myself, I’d never really settled down with anyone over the years. Sure, I had a few relationships with amazing people, but there was always one thing or another that kept us from the altar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much time as I spent teaching teen capes to use their powers, I still didn’t have a kid of my own. Someone to pass my experiences on to, to laugh at my goofs, learn from my mistakes, and share in my successes. But I was only halfway through my 20s, and knew there was so much adventure ahead of me. Someday I’d find my special someone, I just had to be patient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For now, I’d focus on the adventure right in front of me...the people I protected, inspired, and loved so much. Just like Larry was always telling me, there was no sense in stressing about the things you couldn’t control. Instead, focus on what matters, and do your best every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, hand the phone over and I’ll take care of it. Want me to get you with Protectorate HQ in the background?” I made a confused look at them as they started laughing, my old mask having long since been replaced by a clear visor that slightly distorted my face. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, get in here!” He nabbed me with one hand. I could have dodged it easily, but I knew there was nothing to fear here. I could tell from the way they moved, acted, and smiled that they were good people. “Oh, sir! Could you take a picture of us? Just hit the red button there...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A stranger took his camera, and once again I was blown away by the difference between now and then. Years ago, handing a camera over to a stranger would have meant that by nightfall it was in a pawn shop. The money would have gone to buy drugs, or protection from a gang.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was my presence, or that of the dozens of other heroes in town. Perhaps it was thanks to the newly revitalized MIRIS’ efforts of the past few years, so you never knew if someone was a parahuman or just a hotdog vendor. There were dozens of possibilities, I suppose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that there were so many reasons things were better made me smile extra wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After signing autographs and waving goodbye to Forrest and Charlotte, I returned to my walk. I wanted to soak up as much of my hometown as possible. Maybe I’d have enough time to visit Winslow, see the new pool that got installed when Mr. Gladly took over as principal? Or perhaps I could visit the original Help Hounds, now an international animal charity? Maybe even-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me, Core?” I was just about to teleport to another part of town when I heard a voice behind me. I turned to see the same stranger from before, wearing a suit and sunglasses, the pin on their lapel oddly familiar. “Might I have a word? It’s been a while, and you’re going to be needed here in a few minutes anyway...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, I’m always happy to help a fan.” I gestured at a nearby bench, and as we walked towards it I admitted, “Sorry, but I don’t really recognize you. How long has it been since you saw me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Last year’s Christmas party at the PRT. Remember? Ashley tried to drink Ren under the table, but they cheated with their pocket dimension.” The stranger laughed, sitting beside me, then tapped his lapel pin. There was an almost imperceptible popping noise, and George took his Tinkertech sunglasses off. “Of course, I only know about it because you tried to use Ashley’s power to remove her vomit stain from the carpet and accidentally vaporized the floor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In my defense, I was going to use Sabah’s power to clean it, but Ren dragged their wife off before I could copy her.” I grinned at George’s disbelieving face as slowly returned to its normal appearance, a bit more gray around the temples than I remembered. A slight distortion in the air told me that passers by would ignore us entirely. “What the heck are you doing here, George?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I should be asking you that! Last I checked, you were in California at the Wards Training School. You teach more classes there than any other Protectorate hero, you can’t just up and vanish!” He punched me in the arm, his metal fist hurting enough that my arm almost went numb. “I’m here because Aisha’s college graduation party is in three hours, and I got a note from Lisa that you’d skipped the party setup. How’d you get here, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Copied a power from one of the kids in my class, used it to teleport to Victoria’s place, and blended it with her daughter’s version.” Fourth generation capes were triggering so young these days, and I’d brought Sveta to help me convince Vic to enroll her daughter in our new youth program. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Professor</span>
  </em>
  <span> Dallon was worried about how Carol’s teleportation power activates when her shield breaks. I was hoping Sveta could put her therapy skills to use, now that she has a practice. They started nerding out about parahuman psychology, so I decided to...get some air.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, just don’t forget...Brian’s the Parahuman Fighting Champion, so if you miss his sister’s ceremony he’ll beat you up. Aisha’s been working on that double major for-” George sighed, shaking his head and tapping his ear. “Great, now Taylor’s reminding me as well. Why do the Hebert sisters always call me when you run off and do something stupid?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because you’re the Director of an international secret organization and have eyes on everyone?” I shrugged, then leaned in closer. “Hey, speaking of eyes on everyone…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Greg. Nobody’s seen Scion recently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But if you had seen him, then-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can neither confirm nor deny any rumors related to Scion.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? Because I heard this one rumor-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, stop. Please.” George put his face in his palm. “Seriously, you ask me this every few months. But please, tell me this latest rumor, and I’ll tell you that I can neither confirm-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Great! So, I heard that some French lady talked to him in the UK back in mid-2013. That she said something so meaningful that he killed the Endbringers and then vanished!” I held up my finger as George’s eyes snapped up to meet mine. “The story goes that she went to the PRT and tried to tell them about it, but then she vanished as well. Gone! Poof! Just like Scion!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greg, that’s just a silly conspiracy theory, like Bonesaw’s body being stolen by aliens. Or Colin trying to start a transhumanist movement with cyber-bodies.” He laughed, and even I could tell it was faked, then asked, “Out of curiosity, where’d you hear that completely false story?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember that Christmas party?” He paled, and I grinned. “I was only at the bar because Lisette is a total lightweight. While I was helping her sober up, she told me that the last time she’d been that drunk was after her friend Kevin’s funeral. She got hammered, fell off a roof, Scion caught her, and she remembers hitting him and telling him off before passing out. Since then, the Endbringers haven’t attacked, Scion’s been gone, and...you hired her a week later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George stared at me, and I could see his jaw clench slightly before he sighed loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Note to self, Lisette isn’t allowed to drink at parties anymore.” George put a finger on his very-realistic looking fake ear, then glanced over at me. “Greg, if you’re suggesting that I only made her my assistant because she has some sort of connection to the most powerful being in the universe, just in case he ever comes back from wherever she sent him years ago…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I can neither confirm nor-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?” I buried my face in my hands, and both of us broke into laughter. After a bit more smalltalk, we stood up and I held out my arms. “Guess I’d better move on. Can I give you a lift anywhere, Chief Director Veder?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah, I’m good.” He hugged me, then pointed behind me as I turned. “Besides, my precogs said that you’d be needed in ten seconds right over...there. Good luck, Core.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I heard a scream, garbled slightly by George’s privacy tech, and started to move towards the edge of the bubble. A light behind me made me turn back, and I beheld a scene that was strange (even for me) for a few seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the glowing doorways that George used for travel was wide open, leading to a cavernous room full of space-age machinery and tinkertech. People in lab coats rushed around, working on a variety of projects with a few very familiar faces giving out orders...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amy was there, still rocking an eyepatch after all these years, her wife Delilah holding up a prosthetic leg. Beside them was a woman with blonde hair in ringlets, a mechanical spider on her shoulder. Colin and Theresa, both in the bodies they’d built for each other. Doctor Forrester and Frank, talking with what looked like a janitor and some robots made of junk...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were huge windows in the back. One showed a desert, another a frozen tundra, and...was that space?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the doorway vanished, and I heard the scream behind me again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could grill George and the others about all that later...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, someone needed me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time I arrived, the trio of criminals had already fled. I looked at their victim, lying in the trash, and considered giving chase. I found myself staring at their receding forms, memorizing their hair, clothes, and what little I’d seen of their faces...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the powers I had, I could easily catch up, get the truth out of them, hold them accountable, and make sure this never happened again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly my mind flashed back to another moment from the past. My trigger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment that I had lay in the trash, fearing that I was about to die from what I thought was a mortal wound, whimpering for help. The heroes I had adored ran past me, ignoring my plight and presence in favor of making sure that Hookwolf never hurt anyone again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had failed to catch him, and by the time they got back to me I had left as well. Colin and the others had apologized to me for that night and I had long since forgiven them. After all, on some level I knew that if they hadn’t abandoned me and forced me to grow up, I’d be…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, I’d be someone completely different from who I was today. I’d never have found the strength to ask for help, to find my weaknesses and overcome them, or to seek my problems and learn to cope with them. My relationships with family, friends, and everyone else would be nothing like they were today...and there was no doubt in my mind that it had been for the best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was something I had decided for myself, after years of therapy. That if I had the chance to do it all over, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. Not a single mistake, adventure, failure, fear, or attempt. I was happy with the end result, pleased with the journey I’d taken to get here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This kid though...their dreams, hopes, preferences, and future were entirely unknown to me. As much as I might have wanted to teleport their bullies into the bay or do any number of things to teach them a lesson, the person right in front of me was far more important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So instead of chasing or fighting, I just started pulling toppled trash cans off the weeping teen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I held out my hand, and smiled at the person who needed help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that their fingers were glowing didn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the person that I cared about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go away!” The teen rasped, crawling to scuffed knees and picking the bigger pieces of trash off their body. Some of the trash smoked a little, but as the glow on their fingers faded it stopped. “I don’t need your pity. I know I’m trash. Just...leave me alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, but before I go, let me help you with that.” I focused on the smell, the trash, the debris, the stains, and then with a wave of my hand...all were elsewhere. A trio of teenagers, maybe a block or two away, suddenly found themselves plastered in smelly trash. “There, much better. Want to tell me why they were bothering you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I’m garbage, I told you!” The kid looked up at me, so small and angry. No more than fourteen, thin, and gawky. All knees and elbows, wearing a t-shirt that had...oh, well that was just a funny coincidence. “Wait, y-you’re...ohmigawd, I’m your biggest fan! I-I’m sorry, I just-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay, I know what it’s like to have a bad day.” I held out a hand, and we had a proper handshake. I ignored the way my glove smoked slightly and just introduced myself. “I’m Core, but from your shirt I guess you already knew that. Want to talk?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“S-sure! But, I mean, don’t you have better things to do?” Eyes went to feet, a move I remembered from being that age. “I don’t wanna waste your time. You should probably go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is exactly where I need to be. Helping someone.” I assured the kid, and we slowly walked to a nearby bench. “Come on, let’s have a seat and talk. I’ve got a couple hours before I need to teleport across the country. Wanna tell me why those smelly jerks were bugging you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s no big deal.” The answer came way too fast to be true, but I stayed silent. “I mean, they were just joking around, like they always do. The other kids all tease me, because my power is so stupid, and all I can do is...look, never mind. I know that you’re just taking pity on the strange kid, and that’s cool...but you don’t have to pretend you understand what it’s like to be a loser.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I tapped the side of my visor, using my eyes to navigate the menu and send a message to someone. In the meantime, my seatmate rambled on about how they had accepted the life of an outcast, despite a few tears forming to disprove that. I smiled as I got a confirmation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a big fan of mine, right? Do you trust me?” I waited for a nod, then gently placed a hand on their shoulder. “Well, how about I introduce you to some of my friends?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>POP</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>We appeared on a plush couch, joined by all seven members of the Brockton Bay Wards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After introductions and some very shyly accepted autographs, everyone settled down. This wasn’t the first time I’d done this, but nobody complained. One Ward handed tissues to Theo’s sister since this story usually made her cry, but she had a big heart like her brother.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I’m not going to tell you that there’s some magic cure for feeling bad. That you’re just going to wake up one day feeling happy and knowing what to do with your life.” I shrugged, smiling at all eight of the members of my audience. I glanced up at the camera, and then amended that to ten...Director Kalpin and Deputy Director Hobson were probably watching. “Even to this day I still get depressed, I still feel anxious, and I feel like I’m not doing enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I took a deep breath, thinking about all the people I had met in my life, both good and bad. All the challenges I’d faced, failed, and used to motivate myself. All the dreams I’d had, choices I’d made, and crazy ideas I’d struggled to turn into reality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’d lost people, but also saved lives. I’d fought enemies, but also turned foes into friends. I’d changed the world, but also run into impossible challenges. I’d lived a good life...and there was so much yet to come.</span>
</p><p>“But when I was a kid, my parents told me that everyone starts from nothing. That if you have passion, motivation, and a goal, you can do anything you put your mind to.”</p><p>
  <span>Both the Wards and my new friend smiled, faces lighting up as they imagined the possibilities.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can even go from thinking everyone hates you...to being a hero.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I told them a story. It might not have been the best story…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it was my life, and I was proud of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <b>The End</b>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0058"><h2>58. Deleted Scenes 1: Dating and "Training"</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is the first of about a half-dozen deleted scenes (omakes, I guess) of stuff that became non-canon to the story as time went on. As I was posting the third arc, I had already written all 20 chapters and every few chapters I’d find something to tweak or change. Sometimes it was small, but other times whole chapters would get rewritten as what came before them shifted.</p><p>This first example was all originally in 3.9 and it had a much lighter tone. Looking back, I wish I’d had time to build up Sophia and Theo’s relationship, because as we got near the end I had to trim a lot of their smaller scenes. Instead, I had to handwave some character development for both of them, but before that happened these two scenes bookended the chapter more or less. </p><p>The first scene revealed the revelation that Sophia and Theo had decided to keep cape life out of their relationship. For all her problems with vocabulary, Sophia isn’t an idiot. She lived the vigilante life for years, so she’d probably figure Theo out. But being someone who made a lot of mistakes, I can see her not wanting to ruin one of the few good things in her new life. Besides, Missy has her back, so she can afford to make a few small mistakes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You know, if you keep staring at that phone you’re going to ruin your eyes,” I suggested, then laughed as Sophia flipped me off. Missy just rolled her eyes, the two of us having joined her to keep her from getting bored on morning Console duty. “Sorry, hadn’t seen you blink in a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s Theo. We were making plans yesterday and he went offline.” Sophia sighed, putting her phone away before taking it back out again. “Greg, you saw him at school, right? Is he okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um...he left school early for something related to his...part-time job. I think one of his coworkers got hurt, so he had to take her shift.” I lied through my teeth, recalling a post I’d seen on PHO last night about the Undersiders running afoul of the E88. It wasn’t like I could tell Sophia that her boyfriend was a member of-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Undersiders were spotted yesterday messing with the E88, after stealing a bunch of cash from one of their drug houses. Stormtiger chased them away.” Missy interrupted, and I choked. She continued, pointing at a picture from that same thread I’d seen, “They all look fine, and lost Stormtiger after Grue tricked him into flying into a cloud of his smoke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, that’s a great way to change the subject, Missy!” I loudly agreed, and quickly added, “Let’s talk about criminals, instead of worrying about Theo. So how about Lung? How’s he doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sophia looked up from her phone and snorted, while Missy groaned and dropped her chin onto her chest. After a moment she turned to look at me, voice lowered, “Greg, we know about Theo’s real part-time job. You don’t have to lie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In fact, you probably shouldn’t lie anyway,” Sophia laughed. “You’re really bad at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, I mean...how did you…” I stammered, and Sophia poked me with a finger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was a vigilante who snuck out and fought crime for years. I know the signs.” She smirked and shook her head, making a fist and throwing a mock punch. “Besides, it was obvious when I started teaching Theo new moves, then seeing videos of his team on PHO and noticing Golem using them. Same size, same voice, and same holes in his defense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As for me, I walked in on them when they were arguing about it.” Missy shrugged, then stage whispered, “Genius here is so used to ignoring doors that she always forgets to lock hers. I’ve walked in on them making out, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet she never knocks, even knowing that,” Sophia muttered, blushing as she looked at her phone again. “Anyway, I’m the last person to get on someone about making dumb choices. He seemed to know who I was too, so we agreed to leave capes out of...us. For now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lisa probably figured out that Sophia had figured Theo out. Surprised they didn’t force them apart. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m dreading the day his team finds out, especially after what I did to Grue back when I was...worse. How the hell do I apologize for-” She cut herself off, her phone buzzing. “Hello? There you are! What the hell? Yeah? Of course! Pfft, like you can handle me anyway!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She got a wicked grin on her face and stood, practically skipping off as she kept talking. Her voice echoed down the hall, and I heard her laugh at something. She seemed so happy, and I turned to see Missy leaning my way with a hand near her mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I threatened Theo that if he hurt her, I’d kill him.” Missy was smiling, but I doubted she was joking. “Unwritten rules be damned, I’ll go through his whole team if I have to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wondered if that was part of the reason Lisa and Brian had let them be? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even without her powers, Missy was a force of nature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>********************</span>
</p><p>
  <em>As for this, it would have taken place later in the chapter, when Greg went to get his mind off George’s E88 revelation. It certainly worked, with Theo and Sophia’s “training” making Greg jump to the wrong conclusion and completely forget about his brother for a little bit. Still, the chapter went in a different direction, since this seemed a bit too silly for where we later went.  At the same time, it was a scene I miss because it has a genuinely confident Theo with someone he can show real emotions to without worrying about it. <strong>Rated PG13 for mistaken sauciness.</strong> </em>
</p><p>
  <span>*******************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally I’d have just lifted, run, and sweated out my worries, but something felt wrong about that. I kept glancing at my phone, even as I stretched, thinking George or the PRT could call me at any moment. Eventually I decided to hunt Theo down, figuring he might have an idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Theo? I think he’s training with Sophia in Ethan’s back office.” Brian shrugged, his face twisting a little at her name. He muttered something about knocking first, but I barely heard him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them seemed to go on dates almost as often as they sparred, and some of us wondered why they seemed to work so well together. Knowing what I did about Sophia’s life (thanks to Missy) and Theo’s family (thanks to George just now...Medhall and all), I figured they probably had bonded over shared hatred of their relatives. Or maybe rejection from them?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I quietly opened the heavy door, glad that Carlos had finally oiled the hinges, and gently closed it behind me. There was a smell of paint hanging in the air, as well as several leftover cans from when Brian’s mother had come by to repaint the art I wrecked. Despite my apologies, she just laughed it off, saying that the more she painted the less she wanted to do...other things. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Creeping down the hall, I could hear the sound of scuffling. Theo and Sophia sounded like they were whispering about something, and I decided to see what their secret training was all-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-harder.” I heard Sophia grunt, and I paused halfway down the hall. “No, don’t let go of my neck! You need to keep a firm grip.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t, I don’t want to hurt you.” Theo replied, sounding out of breath. I heard the sound of the floor mat squeaking, like something was sliding against it. “Stop squirming, I just need…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What you need is to stop chickening out on this.” Sophia retorted, and I heard shifting cloth. “Lift my leg higher, and then get your hand...no, not there!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t help it! Doing this from behind...I’m getting lost.” Theo cut her off, and I carefully crept closer. I felt my face growing hot, and wondered if I should turn around and leave. Or get an adult. “Are you sure this is safe? It feels-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve done it this way a dozen times, you’re fine. Get your arm around my neck, now-” I heard her grunt again. “Almost there...wait, there it is! You got it!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I edged my head around the corner, and saw Theo grabbing Sophia from behind, pulling her on top of him as he lay back on the mats. Both were sweating, but they were fully clothed at least. He had one arm around her neck and the other around one of her legs. His hand was tapping her knee as she grinned, both red-faced and panting, and he finally let her go with a gasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, with the strength you’ve been building up, Brazilian Jiu-jitsu is a good fit for grappling.” She rolled off of him and took a few breaths as he hovered over her on his knees and one arm. “Now that you have the basic Clock Choke down, we can move on to more advanced versions. You’re still way too timid, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know. I just keep worrying about hurting people, even if I know they’re going to hurt me otherwise.” Theo sighed, and smiled at Sophia as he leaned closer. After looking into her eyes, he added, “Thanks for being my teacher...and my practice dummy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dummy? Who are you calling a dummy?” Sophia’s left arm came up, lightning fast, and her fingers grabbed his sweat-stained shirt. She pulled herself closer to him with surprising strength, a grin spreading over her face. “You’re lucky you’re cute, pal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it is one of my most redeeming qualities, aside from my patience, kindness, and sex appeal.” Theo agreed, his voice lowering, and he leaned in. Their lips met in a soft kiss, Sophia began to sink back down to the practice mat as Theo’s hand moved towards her-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>CLANG</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>I cursed as I backed off a bit too fast, bumping into one of the old paint cans and knocking it over. From the direction of the training room I could hear Theo and Sophia scrambling to get up, and by the time they ducked their heads around the corner I was crouched over a few paint cans. I looked up, forced confusion on my face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh hey guys!” I smiled, then looked back down at the cans and lied my ass off. “Sorry, didn’t know you were back there. I was just picking up some paint cans, and was too clumsy. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Were you meditating or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Medi-” Theo let out a grunt, and I looked up to see Sophia pulling her elbow out of his side. “Yeah, we were meditating. I was trying to find meaning in putting up with Sophia’s bullshit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” She wrapped an arm around his neck, and laughed as he struggled. “Maybe I’ll find enlightenment in your suffering!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I smiled even wider, not trusting myself to say a word, and slowly backed away from them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As I shut the door behind me, I could hear him slam her against the wall and laugh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe it was more training, but I hung a towel on the doorknob, just in case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Brian was chatting with Lisa, and next thing I knew they dragged me off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I ended up grabbing food with her and Brian, and hanging out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It helped get my mind off George...for a little bit, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When I told Lisa I owed her one, she just smiled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...and then reminded me I owed her </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0059"><h2>59. Deleted Scenes 2: Militia, Mouse, and Mothers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Interlude 7 originally had a much longer conversation between Miss Militia (Hannah) and Mouse Protector (Vera). I had to cut most of it because it was a little too goofy for the serious subject matter, but still kept some of it to lighten up the ending. In this version, we see her mother’s love for Terry writ large, and Jackie actually giving up on Sophia entirely after getting called on it. </p><p>I still regret that I didn’t stretch her time in the Asylum out a bit more, but hopefully her extreme cooperativeness and attitude about “getting back home to stop Terry” let that work. Real therapy takes time, but with the main story moving on I hope it wasn’t too jarring to have her only spend 1-2 months isolated from her toxic family and learning how to be better from Sveta/Yamada.</p><p>Anyway, here’s some Miss Militia, trying her best to deal with an impossible person, to solve an impossible problem, and deal with an impossibly helpful friend who won’t take No for an answer.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Where’s Terry?” Were Jackie’s first words, and I only barely kept myself from groaning. The woman had a one-track mind, focused entirely on her son. “Well? What did you do to my baby?”</p><p>“Your son fled from his apartment, an apartment whose owner has been missing for months.” Jackie started to retort, but I slapped my hand flat against the wall beside me and it echoed through the corridor like a gunshot. “He also had files on your daughter’s identity, which he was using to <em> blackmail </em> her. He had weapons linked to over a dozen homicides in the Bay, and threatened <em> your own life </em> to keep your daughter in line.”</p><p>“Bullshit! She probably planted all those things there, just to ruin our family even more!” She held her hands up, pleading with me as if this was some big misunderstanding. “Please, you’ve worked with her for over a year, you know she’s a criminal. She killed people,  beat up children, and pinned one of Terry’s friends to a wall with a crossbow...she’s dangerous!”</p><p>“Wait, that was one of Terry’s friends?” I stepped back, another part of Sophia’s story suddenly making more sense. That had been around the time her brother had started blackmailing her, and when she’d been forced to join the Wards. “Did you always know-”</p><p>“Yes, of course I knew! Terry and I both knew.” Jackie was starting to get heated now, her face turning red as she listed some very familiar talking points. “You can’t trust her. She lied to get Paula taken by CPS, lied to get me fired, and lied about her activities as a so-called vigilante hero. I tried ignoring her, I tried giving her space, I tried punishing her, but nothing worked!”</p><p>“Did you try being her mother? Listening to her? Giving a <em>damn</em> about her?” My voice was quiet, and my patience for this woman was nearly at its end. I stalked towards Jackie. “<em>Be</em> <em>silent!”</em></p><p>Jackie paled and staggered back, but I refused to let up.</p><p>“Sophia may be going to the Parahuman Asylum, but you’re not off the hook. Her school, home, and social lives are <em> toxic </em> , as you so easily proved today. She may have committed crimes, she may have been blackmailed, she may have been abused, but throughout all of that, her worst crime was trying to protect a thankless, blind, abusive <em> fool </em> like you.”</p><p>“You think you can do better? Have at it, you star-spangled <em> bitch </em>.” Jackie reached into her purse and pulled out a plastic bag, one containing Sophia’s personal effects, and threw it on the floor. “Keep her worthless ass. You tell her that she’s no longer my daughter! That girl was a mistake, and if I ever see her again, I’ll call the cops!”</p><p>I immediately felt terrible, having grown up without a mother and knowing that surely <em> any </em> parent was better than none at all. But before I could reply, Jackie had already stormed away. I leaned against the wall for a moment, then flinched when I realized it wasn’t a wall...it was a door.</p><p>
  <em> I forgot that I’d stopped here for a reason. Perhaps the door was thick enough to block sound? </em>
</p><p>Peering through the window set in the door, I could see a small room for those under psychiatric care. Seated on the floor, dressed in white scrubs and slippers, was Sophia Hess.</p><p>Her arms were around her knees, which were drawn up to her chest, and her face buried in them. I could hear her sobbing, see her shoulders shaking, and realized I’d made things worse. </p><p>I wanted to go inside, to comfort her, to make this better...but how was I supposed to fix this?</p><p>Tomorrow she’d be shipped off to the Asylum. Was there even time for me to try?</p><p>This was a hospital...maybe it was time for a second opinion?</p><p>***</p><p>I walked to the end of the hall and took a seat in some uncomfortable plastic chairs, glad that the psychiatric ward was quiet at this time of night. I pulled my phone out again, and with hands that only shook a little, pressed two numbers to speed-dial one of my oldest friends.</p><p>
  <em> RING </em>
</p><p>
  <em> RING </em>
</p><p>
  <em> RI- </em>
</p><p>“Hello-hello!” A voice answered, slightly out of breath. Probably jogging. I could hear cars and voices in the background. There was a laugh. “Oh, it’s Hannah! Long time no hear, GI Jane!” </p><p>“Hello Vera.” I smiled, her voice had always cheered me up. Even though I knew she was hundreds of miles away. “You sound like you’re busy. I can call back later.”</p><p>“What? Busy?” I heard her laugh, and something metallic crashed in the background. “No, I’m just chasing this guy who picked my pocket. I can talk, what’s up?”</p><p>“A pickpocket? Do you need me to call the police?”</p><p>“No, silly. I was already out jogging, and now I get to teach someone a valuable lesson!” She sounded so happy, and not even a little out of breath. Even now, she was probably the fittest of us all, something she loved to brag about. “Besides, running through traffic like this helps me stay vigilant, so it’s a net positive.”</p><p>“If you’re so vigilant, how did your perp manage to pick your pocket?”</p><p>“Well, that’s...um…” Vera stumbled verbally, though from the sound of it she was a sure-footed as ever. Then her footsteps vanished, replaced with the whistling sound of Vera’s body flying through the air. I didn’t even need to see her to know she’d probably kicked him in the face, was in the middle of a flip, and...<em> there </em> was her landing on her feet. I heard a body hit the ground.</p><p>“Okay, Hannah, sorry about that. Just let me grab my wallet...and here come the cops. Over here boys! He ran into a wall, I think! Yeah, what are the odds?” I waited patiently, and minutes later she was back on the line as traffic moved in the background. “So glad I could teach him a valuable lesson about crime.”</p><p>“That it doesn’t pay?”</p><p>“Are you kidding? I had over a hundred bucks in that wallet. That’s great pay for a little jogging.” Her key rattled in the lock and she opened the door only to slam it soon after. “No, he learned that just because someone isn’t wearing a costume, is no reason to assume they can’t jump-kick you in the face with a running start. Now, what did you want to talk about?”</p><p>With a slightly lighter mood, I explained the situation to my old friend. I may not have gone into all the details, but I kept my voice down as I explained Sophia’s issues, as well as her mother’s explosive rage. </p><p>Soon, I sighed, “I just don’t know what to do. Foster care is horrible in Brockton Bay, and I don’t have the time to watch her full-time. I thought I’d ask your advice, since you always seemed…”</p><p>“So smart, beautiful, and sexy? Why yes, thanks for noticing.” Vera’s reply made me smile, although her next statement immediately made that go away. “I’ll get on the next plane to Brockton Bay. It’ll force Ravager to waste another few weeks hunting me down, and in the meantime I can back you up! We’ll be like lesbian step-moms, except that we’re both straight.”</p><p>“No, Vera that isn’t what I-”</p><p>“Oh, fine, you caught me...I’m kind of pansexual, but don’t go telling PHO. Anyway, you won’t talk me out of this, I’m already grabbing my go-bag and costume, and heading out now!”</p><p>“No, what I mean is that I’m-”</p><p>“Whoa, you mean you’re not straight either? Well now I have to come visit, I was always jealous of you and Chevalier, but now I can get in on that action.” I heard the sound of breaking glass. “That was me jumping out the window, and destroying the deposit on this place, so there’s no going back now. Tell our step-daughter that it’s gonna be okay, Mommy’s coming!”</p><p>She hung up.</p><p>I stared at the phone for several minutes, wondering how I was going to explain this to Piggot. How I would tell them what I had inflicted upon Brockton Bay by trying to help someone. By trying to be there for a Ward, one of the kids I trained, someone who needed help.</p><p>
  <em> On the other hand, maybe that’s all I really need to do? Is that enough to help? Being there for the Ward I’m mentoring? </em>
</p><p>Soon, I was back in front of Sophia’s room, and entered quietly to sit down next to her. She didn’t respond, not even looking at me. </p><p>I knew from experience that she was probably embarrassed that I was seeing her like this. Sophia hated to be seen as weak.</p><p>
  <em> What did Hero say to me, all those years ago...when I thought I’d killed that man by accident?  </em>
</p><p>Smiling slightly, I said the words she needed to hear the most. Words to remind her...</p><p>“You’re going to be okay, Sophia. You’re far too strong to give up, right?”</p><p>She didn’t reply, but she did lean against me and nod slightly.</p><p>We would get through this together.</p><p>We were survivors, after all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0060"><h2>60. Deleted Scenes 3: Sorry to "Rune" Your Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Originally, Melody and George were going to use the Undersiders, posing as Coil, and have them help mess with the E88. This still happened subtly (see Interlude 10, with a mysterious E88 person feeding them info on dog fighting rings), but not as much as I had planned. Anyway, one of those jobs was going to be having our quartet of villains mess with Rune, tricking her into showing up and then taking her down.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I liked the banter and commentary, but it proved too cracky for my purposes and it got scrapped. Anyway, here’s a deleted scene that made me appreciate the lighter side of being a teen villain. Also, a nazi getting beaten up...mostly by herself.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>******************</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, here we go, video time!” Alec hit play, and Lisa’s hard work stitching everyone’s footage together appeared on the TV. “Lisa, this is your finest work yet...mostly because I’m in it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The video started just after what appeared to be a large explosion, but one that did little more than stop traffic and make people panic. After the cars had all stopped, people reacted naturally...by whipping out their phones to record.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fallen brick wall, knocked loose by the explosion, had previously hidden a large townhouse simply festooned with swastikas, E88 logos, some terrible art by a well-known (but universally reviled) German artist. Also, several crates of automatic weapons and drugs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Naturally, people also called the police and PRT, including a talkative brunette who was very loudly telling the PRT that the ABB had attacked an E88 safehouse. True, there were several men in ABB colors in a truck by the fallen wall, but nobody could say for certain whether they’d actually caused the explosion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or why they’d set it off while ten feet away, with the engine turned off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or why they were unconscious.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“So, wait, who actually planted the explosives?” Alec asked, pausing the video. “I mean, Brian’s job was being loud and black, no offense-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“None taken.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“...Lisa called the PRT, because talking’s all she’s good for-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I will stab you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-Rachel’s job was dogs-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Best job.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“-and I did all the real work. So where’d the bombs come from?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“No idea.” Brian shrugged. He’d been as surprised as the rest of them, but Lisa had assured them that the Boss’s note had said there were bombs in the wall. “Besides, I seem to recall that my job was also-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Shhh, spoilers!” Alec cut him off, unpausing the video.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Normally a video like this would have ended right around here, as the authorities poured in and cordoned off the area. They’d confiscate the goods, arrest any ABB or E88 nearby, and make a big statement later about teamwork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this was an Undersiders job, and that meant that coincidence wasn’t just a side dish...it was every item on the menu, and double for dessert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it just so happened, a member of the E88 had been skipping school thanks to a free movie ticket Cricket had given her, for a movie she was just dying to see. The explosion had evacuated the theater, and the young villain was looking for someone to pound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone expected that the E88 would show up soon to reclaim their things before the PRT arrived, and so most people had already started to back away as a certain identifiable flying object appeared. Not the strangest thing anyone had seen in Brockton Bay, Rune flew onto the scene atop a floating surfboard, two slabs of asphalt behind her that were equally flipping gravity the bird. Before she could even say a word, she was interrupted by a loud voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get outta here, nazi!” A handsome young black man yelled, and others in the crowd did the same. They rallied behind this muscular man with an afro, large mustache, and thick glasses that all looked strangely fake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their shouts and chants went on for a full minute, before she dropped a slab and silenced them. Not by killing them, mind you. It was just really loud. Rune smiled, and tried again-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was cut off by the sound of ten dogs of various shapes and sizes, all barking up a storm. Rune glared at the dogs silently, and then their owner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Said owner, a woman with gray hair and so many wrinkles they almost looked fake, clicked her tongue at them...but that only made them louder. The fact that she was staring murderously at Rune made several wonder if she was actually goading them into barking more, but who can say with the elderly? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Choosing to go with what worked, Rune dropped her last asphalt slab. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dogs went quiet, whimpering as the massive slab shattered on the ground. Rune started to speak again, but once more was interrupted as the fellow who had previously interrupted her shouted, “Hey Rune, heard you can’t do a handstand? Some Master Race, can’t even stand on her hands without falling over!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the hell up, you stupid n-” Rune started to lean forward, and for all intents and purposes the crowd assumed she was actually taking on his challenge. Regardless of her intention, she almost immediately slipped and fell off her board, landing in the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It only took a few moments before the crowd erupted into raucous laughter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody could have seen that coming, except perhaps a certain electrician high up on a telephone pole, who had been flicking his wrist at her. His huge beard was certainly real, and hid his youthful face as well as any mask.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey, a question occurs to me.” Brian said, and Alec let out a groan as he paused the video again. He pretended to look at a watch he didn’t have, and Brian ignored him to look at Lisa. “Where did those ABB guys come from? I didn’t get them, they didn’t have bite marks, and Alec was too lazy. So?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What, you don’t think I could take down a half dozen ABB thugs?” Lisa grinned at Brian...right up until he reached out and pinched her bicep, or lack thereof. She flinched back, slapping at him. “Ow! Okay fine, so some of us don’t have time to hit the gym five times a week! I’m busy!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Carlos has a 4.0 GPA and extracurriculars, he comes as often as I do. Lawrence is a therapist, he’s there several times a week. That supposedly ex-E88 kid has community service, but still shows up to hog the treadmill every other day. Heck, even-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Okay, okay, we get it, you’re a gym rat.” Alec waved his hands, turning to Lisa. “Can you just answer his question? Where’d the ABB come from?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Fine. I took a chance on a mercenary when my powers gave him the okay. He got them in under an hour, drugged and bound, took his payment, and left.” Lisa shrugged. “Nice guy, too.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Really? What were his powers?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not sure he had any. Must have been pretty new...the codename he gave was Gun Guy.” All three laughed, shaking their heads. “Had a pretty sweet arm, though. I think he worked for-”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Enough! I have things to do.” Rachel growled, waving at Alec. “Start the damn video again.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The remainder of the video involved the brunette making fun of Rune, moving around her in a slow circle as she did so. Only the most careful eyes would have noticed this, but she appeared to have several scars on her face and kept her hair in her face. If someone were suspicious, they almost might have thought she was hiding her identity, but who would want to do that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With each attempt the small nazi made to get up, her hand or leg would slip and she’d go falling back down again. A series of slurred curses were coming from her, as all the impacts between her face and ground couldn’t have been good for her dental health. The electrician was nearly falling off his pole, laughing at her antics, and eventually started to slide down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>...seeing that she was losing the battle of both words and gravity, Rune finally let out a sob and tried to run away. Unfortunately, it appeared that fate had it out for her kind that day, as she immediately slipped, headbutting the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did not get up, this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The PRT was happy to pick her up when they arrived, having a cell all ready for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By then, the four most active members of this little play were long gone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Flawless victory, as was standard for the Undersiders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guess we really Runed her day, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The others threw pillows at Alec.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0061"><h2>61. Deleted Scenes 4: The Coward, Lung</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, originally the lead-up to the Leviathan fight was two or three chapters, and one whole chapter involved Lung’s involvement. The idea was that Core would arrive, find out that Lung had decided this wasn’t worth his time, and then get pissed off. I mean, fire guy versus water monster! Lung had already fought Leviathan before and lived! What the hell, man?</p><p>So he grabbed a trio of powers (Dovetail’s Flight, Aegis’ Compensation, and Glory Girl’s Shield), blended them, and flew off to convince Lung to come….but failed. It kind of felt like another hit to Greg’s confidence, in a chapter that was already dark enough. Especially given what happens after the fight, and with the story nearing its end I wasn’t sure I wanted to have an entire chapter where the story just didn’t go anywhere. </p><p>Anyway, this scene picks up with Greg having arrived to find that his stealth skills need work, and him getting one chance to back off. Being Greg, he naturally...ignores it completely.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“I already told the PRT I was not interested in their fool’s errand. Therefore, this will be a simple conversation.” Lung replied, lifting a hand and holding it about a foot from my face. “You will leave, and I will not have my men drag your broken body to their doorstep tomorrow morning.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of his fingers burst into flame, strong enough that I could feel the head even from a foot away. As I stared up at him, mere moments passed before another finger followed suit. It wasn’t until the third finger that I realized this was his version of counting to five.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I don’t think so.” I shook my head, and held out my hand as well. “I want you to come with me, so we can fight Leviathan together. You already fought him once and walked away, which is more than a lot of people can say. You can make a difference, and therefore you should.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lung’s entire hand burst into flame, and if it weren’t for Victoria’s shield I’m pretty sure I would have gotten some burns. As it was, I felt like I was being dipped into a sauna, and resisted the urge to back away or flinch. “Do not force me to make you leave, boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You notice how you haven’t Ramped up yet?” I looked at his powers, piercing the haze around him within moments. It was mostly a bluff on my part, but I still kept a straight face and focused on calm thoughts. “That’s because I’m not here as a threat. I’m only here to talk. You don’t need to fight me, and I don’t want to fight you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lung growled, and then suddenly the heat went out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are brave, which will serve you well in the future.” Lung returned to the window, staring out at the rain. “At the same time, you are naive, foolish, and wasting your time. I have fought Leviathan enough to know he cannot be beat, even when I stood toe-to toe with him. I could match him, but could not defeat him. If I couldn’t, then nobody could.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never thought I would hear something like that from you. Especially after what you did the first time we met.” Now came the hard part. While he was trying to figure out who I was, I grabbed my three blended powers and pulled them apart...then dropped Aegis’ power and used a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fourth</span>
  </em>
  <span> mental hand to grab Lung’s Ramping Up power. I linked it to the other two, set it in my core, and asked, “You don’t remember me? Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have beaten many foes. I have no time to memorize all of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was dressed in green and red, a white kid who infiltrated the workshop you were building for Bakuda. You know, the one you blew up after I set the alarm off?” I felt something rumble, and for a moment wondered if it was Lung growling. Then I realized it was coming from inside of me. The Blend I had created was vibrating, both powers linked to Lung’s were growing. “I think I’m the one who beat you, actually. Or maybe you beat yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You!” Lung’s yell warned me just in time to see a ball of fire, and I couldn’t dodge.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I didn’t have to. The ball hit me, splashing across my body harmlessly. Or rather, it splashed harmlessly off the shield Victoria’s power had given me, ramped up by Lung’s power. I just stood there, and tanked several more fireballs before I felt the shield start to fail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I aimed myself at a spot across the room, calling upon the lessons I’d gotten from Victoria, Aegis, and even Legend himself that one day. With Dovetail’s flight ramped up, I practically teleported across the room, and watched as Lung threw another fireball at where I’d been.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t hit me!” I shouted, dodging two more fireballs. “Just let me say my piece and I’ll go!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lung didn’t reply, but he did stop throwing fireballs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I respect you, more than you probably know, and I think that on some level you respect me as well. That’s the only reason I was able to copy just a drop of your power just now.” There was no reason to assume Lung didn’t know what my powers were. “I mostly came here to try and convince you to fight, but it was also to copy that power, so I can use it to fight Leviathan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, you have insulted me and copied my power.” He waved a hand. “Be on your way, boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m not done yet, and I haven’t insulted you. Even if you’re a criminal, I know you’re brave to take on the PRT, E88, and so many others.” I watched him preen, and that’s when I dropped the bomb. “Which is why this has me so confused. See, I’m not brave like you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In fact, I really wish I’d held onto Aegis’ power to do a quadruple blend. Oh well, too late now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m a coward. For all my powers and friends, despite my training and dreams, I’m scared to death. I’m afraid I’m going to die, that my friends will die, and that my family will die.” I felt my voice quaver, and my legs shook a little. “But I’m still going to fight anyway. I’m going to try, even though I’m scared. A lot of people might die today, but I’m going to do everything I can to save them, no matter how much it hurts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I already said that you were brave, boy. You didn’t need to make a stupid speech and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut the hell up! You have no right to say the word ‘brave’ to me.” My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. “Today a lot of people are going to die. The people in your so-called territory are going to die. I’m going to use your power to try and save them, because you won’t. I’m going to be brave, because you...are a coward.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fireball splashed off my shield, and I blurred out of the way as Lung sped across the room. His fist tore through the wall, but I was already behind him. He kept chasing me, but to no avail.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to prove me wrong?” I slid to the hole he’d torn, turning back to face him. Both his hands were together, a ball of fire growing between them. I pointed over my shoulder with one thumb. “I’ll be out there. Risking my life, using your power, and trying to fight a battle I know I can’t win. You can prove me wrong, or you can hide in here and wait for me to drag the dead bodies of </span>
  <em>
    <span>the people who trusted you</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of their ruined homes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I shot out the hole just before Lung’s fireball hit me, and took to the air. I felt scared, powerful, and most of all I felt angry. I wanted to smash something, to break things, to let it out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before going back to the staging ground, I found a small park to throw up in, to punch trees with the shield to protect me, to scream at the sky and Leviathan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All his talk of being a brave warrior, all that Confrontational personality I’d felt when I had his power way back when, and he was a coward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe I was the coward, so afraid of an impossible fight that I was trying to find meaning by stacking the deck in my favor?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I wiped my face and put my mask back on, knowing I didn’t have time to waste feeling sorry for myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing that today would be won by what we had, not what we hoped we had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I flew back to the others, cursing the so-called “warrior” in my head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Forget Lung. We’d save the day with or without him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We might fail, but at least we were trying.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If I had made the ABB leader show up halfway through the fight, it might have worked, but it already felt like things were rough enough with the aftermath of the Leviathan fight. </p><p>I ended up rewriting a lot of the chapter, making more about buildup, his struggles to heal, and then fighting to help as many as possible before being shipped off by Calvert. But this just felt...off, to me. Like it didn’t really fit in the greater story, and for that reason it got cut.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0062"><h2>62. Deleted Scenes 5: Solve for X</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Originally, Chris and Trevor were going to play bigger roles in the story. Trevor was going to be the guy who set the Locker Cameras up for Sophia back in arc 2. Chris was going to visit Greg in the hospital. There was going to be a side plot with Chris discovering Trevor was a mole for Coil because his mother was in danger, trying to save him, and being disgusted with the PRT for not supporting a Ward in need. But things changed, and a lot of their scenes cut out, sadly.</p><p>The culmination of their side plot was going to be that post-Coil, Trevor got kicked out of the Wards and Chris left with him. The two idealists would have struck out on their own, trying to create an Independent Tinker team focused on helping people. Between Whitelist and PHO, their numbers would slowly grow...eventually ending up with quite a huge following.</p><p>This is the last of my deleted scenes, which would’ve taken place in 2013 with the other arc 3 epilogues. It stars a special team of Tinkers, trying to be an altruistic version of Toybox that was strangely popular with the world. Several ex-members of Toybox, as well as many other Tinkers and Thinkers, joined them over the years...but Cranial here didn’t take it very well. Enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Good afternoon Cranial, we got your number from Bauble and were wondering-”</p><p>“You think you kids can poach our members and get away with it? Do you know who the hell we are?” Cranial’s anger might have been more effective if it wasn’t coming through a monitor, but Chris had to admit that he was still shocked into silence for a few moments. “Toybox isn’t exactly known for being forgiving. You think a little club made by Kid Win is going to put a dent in our business? Give me a break!”</p><p>The smile froze on Chris’s face, and he heard Trevor grumble under his breath through the comm link they both had in their masks. It was so tempting to retaliate with the fact that they hadn’t poached those members so much as they’d come to join him, but...</p><p>But this call wasn’t about starting an argument. He hadn’t called Toybox to trade insults. So he took a deep breath, waited for his chance, and finally cut in when Cranial was taking a breath.</p><p>“First of all, my deepest apologies for giving you the impression that we poached your members. We announced our intentions on Whitelist, had a tryout period, and several of your old members made the cut. Glace and Bauble were really happy to help us, and we’re happy to have them.” Chris smiled, remembering how both had practically begged him to let them help. “Second, it’s not Kid Win anymore, as I’m sure you know from how your people keep trolling me on PHO.”</p><p>“Oh yes, I forgot your little press release.” Cranial made jazz hands, face twisting into a snarl. “I lost $20 thinking you’d go with Winner or Winman, and instead you killed the bet. Who the hell told you <em> Realize </em> was a good name?”</p><p>“Eh, I thought it was a pretty good name.” Trevor piped in, then recoiled as Cranial glared at him. “Then again, I started calling myself <em> Invert </em> , so what the hell do I know? <em> People Weekly </em> is still making fun of me for my attempt to bring rollerblades back into style.”</p><p>“Which brings us to my third point, our little Tinker club.” Realize elbowed Invert, getting a mock glare in response. “I formed this group of Thinkers and Tinkers because we all wanted to use our bullshit technology and powers to actually solve problems.”</p><p>“As opposed to Toybox, who mostly just makes money off problems.” Trevor sniped, then grinned as Cranial pointedly ignored him. Realize gave him a look, so he stopped joking.</p><p>“Glace and Bauble helped the PRT capture Fog a few years back, and both told us that they liked the idea of being able to help with certain problems that have no solutions.” Realize recalled Bauble’s rant about how people refused to use what she called Shatterbird-proof glass. “They also wanted to join a group that had a positive public image, so some of their ideas could actually be realized without people assuming there were ulterior motives at work.” </p><p>“You’ll die like all the other groups of your type.” Cranial scoffed, and in the background a half-dozen other Tinkers burst into laughter. All of Toybox had been listening in with half an ear, but now they appeared to actually be paying attention. “You’ll either get snatched up by a gang, killed by villains, or sell out to the PRT and lose your souls. Hell, I give you a month, tops.”</p><p>“Is that so? Well in that case, how about we make a wager? A...challenge?” Cranial didn’t rise to his bait, but in an instant the entire room of Toybox Tinkers went silent. After a few moments to let suspense build, he continued, “One month, and both of our groups try to accomplish the same goal. Whoever does it first, wins. No prize, no money, just bragging rights.”</p><p>“Oh, and what’s your challenge?” Cranial laughed, and all of the people behind her began to mutter amongst themselves. “Build a better Birdcage? Kill an Endbringer? Shoot the Moon?” </p><p>“Capture the Butcher.” They went silent again, and Realize felt his fingers tremor a little at the excitement flowing through him. He barely whispered, “Not kill. Capture.”</p><p>“That’s impossible. You’re just trying to get us to kill ourselves, to join you in a suicide pact.”</p><p>“I understand if you’re afraid. I mean, we have Glace for cryogenics, and Invert has been doing some cool stuff with teleportation…” Realize trailed off, then slowly reached forward as if he was about to turn the monitor off. “Guess we’ll just do it ourselves, and get all the-”</p><p>“You’re on.” Cranial snapped, and held up a finger. “Contest starts at midnight tonight.”</p><p>Then Cranial cut the connection, and Trevor grabbed his friend in a rib-cracking hug.</p><p>“Dude! We did it! We totally got them!” He laughed, letting go of Realize and spinning around in a circle on his skates. He started to roll around the room, bouncing off the wall and doing little tricks as his boots gave off a yellow glow. “Mission Accomplished! Lights on, let’s party!”</p><p>With those words, the lights came back up and everyone else in the room started talking again. It was impossible to tell where one conversation started and the next began. Realize slowly rose to his feet, leaning on his desk as he looked around the huge pocket dimension Dodge had made for them (for only half his savings).</p><p>In one corner, Tecton was talking to Trainwreck about something involving the rusty Tinker’s arm. Closer to Realize were two Thinkers talking so fast he could barely keep up. Several other Thinkers were listening in, nodding and taking notes as they got ready to jump in.</p><p>On his other side, Glace was listening intently as Continue explained how his new name fit him way better than Leet ever had. Just past them, Uber and Bauble were laughing about some of the failed names Continue had tried before he found a winner...like Player and Quarters.</p><p>“Told ya it would work.” A metal hand came down on Realize’s shoulder, and he spun to see Gun Guy grinning like it had all been according to plan. The stout man threw his human arm over Fuse’s shoulders and pulled the Bomb Tinker into a headlock. “My sis here used the same trick ta get her two nerd bros to fight her a few years back. Geeks can’t resist a challenge.”</p><p>As the two started to scuffle and squabble, Realize turned his attention to Armsmaster, who was talking to Dragon and confirming that Toybox had just put in several million dollars worth of orders for specialized equipment from all over the world. In other words, it was “on.”</p><p>Realize climbed up on his desk and whistled for everyone’s attention. He swallowed heavily as the eyes of nearly twenty Tinkers and Thinkers turned to face him, waiting for direction.</p><p>“Everyone, this is great news, but let’s not forget what brought us all together. We all have amazing powers, minds, and capabilities...but as we come together we are capable of anything. My hometown of Brockton Bay scared off Leviathan, made the Slaughterhouse Nine run for the hills with a few members dead in the ground, and all because we all fought for a common goal.”</p><p>The pressure melted away when he saw his best friend and his mentor nodding at him.</p><p>“In the past, Tinkers and Thinkers were afraid to gather en masse like this, and even after we go back to our lives and jobs we’ll stay in touch. We all understand that no matter how complex a problem is it must have a solution. That together, any problem can be solved!”</p><p>He jumped down from the table, activating his hover boots and slowly rising into the air.</p><p>“So what if Toybox is getting an early start? I’ve got a much better question for you!”</p><p>For once, Chris didn’t compare himself to Hero, because he didn’t need to.</p><p>No, he <em> knew </em>he was a hero, and together they all had a job to do.</p><p>“Are we ready to make the world a better place?”</p><p>The members of Solve For X cheered.</p><p>Then they got to work.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know, in canon the SH9 murdered the heck out of Toybox a good 2 years before all this, but I'm pretty sure I'd have butterflied that to be different somehow. Anyway, that's the last of my deleted scenes, thanks for putting up with them. Coming very soon, a big ol’ postmortem of all my final thoughts, stuff I could have done better, and lessons I learned while writing this massive fic. After that...guess I'll work on some snips, and get to work outlining my next story. Hopefully something smaller than this.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0063"><h2>63. Postscript and Lessons Learned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Some final thoughts, lessons learned, and thanks from the bottom of my heart for reading all this.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>“He's emotionally immature, and him finding emotional maturity would be a solid character arc for a story featuring him</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” -Wildbow, on the subject of Greg Veder as a character. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took me </span>
  <em>
    <span>three</span>
  </em>
  <span> character arcs, 300k words, and 6 months to get there, but we made it! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know that there are some people who will never read this because the words ‘Greg Veder’ instantly fill them with disgust and hatred, and that’s understandable. The original character, in canon, is ignorant, blind to the suffering he causes, and tries so hard to matter that he ends up hurting a lot of people. He may not be outright malicious, but his paranoia and selfishness does a lot of damage anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But this isn’t that guy...not by a long shot. This Greg became motivated by a power he feared he’d misuse, and worked to overcome his faults. He had plenty of missteps, made a pile of mistakes, and fell down a lot. But he never stopped getting back up, no matter what.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When cool powers failed to solve his many problems, he tried talking things out and asking for help. Instead of just whining or avoiding his faults, he faced his fears and tried to change. He hated his old self enough to fight it, loved his family enough to trust them, cared for his friends enough to support them, liked his team enough to work with them, and eventually...grew up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like Greg, I made more than a few mistakes along the way. No journey is complete until you look back at the path you took to get there. Here are a few things that I feel like I could have done better, and how I’d fix them if I had time for a massive rewrite:</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>Guest Stars, Not Characters</b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I introduced a whole big pile of characters, and despite fleshing several out, most only ever got used as guests and cameos rather than for actual plots. Danny, Circus/Ren, Gareth/Crucible, Susan/Dovetail, Victoria, Amy, Trevor, and so many more popped up for a little bit to teach Greg a valuable lesson, and then were barely seen again. They were Aesops, more or less.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How I’d Do It Better</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I think I would have picked a smaller cast of guests, and had them keep popping up throughout so that we develop them as characters. Susan is Greg’s lawyer, Danny is the father of his friend, Ren is a parahuman thief that he wants to turn to good (maybe), and I could have put Gareth on the Brockton Bay Wards. I could have focused more, I think.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>New Wave? Barely a Ripple</b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amy and Victoria mostly existed to teach Greg things and support him. Victoria had a decent intro, taught him a lot, and his panic attack caused some butterflies. That was good...but then I completely failed with the followup. Near the end of the arc (2.10) Greg gets healed by Panacea and she just </span>
  <em>
    <span>explains</span>
  </em>
  <span> how Victoria’s training led to her getting into therapy and having a slightly better relationship with Carol. It was all Tell and no Show, and after that we barely saw them.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How I’d Do It Better</span>
  </em>
  <span>: Interludes 5 and 6 have a very similar feel to them (Wards mentoring and Armsmaster becoming a Mentor) and I could have merged them. Then with the open Interlude, I’d have written the whole argument/resolution Amy told Greg about in 2.10 from the POVs of Vic/Amy/Carol. On top of that, I could have brought either of the Dallons into their lunch group as Arcadia. Not as full-on friends, but just to check in more often. Or I could have backed off and used a different depressed Healer to achieve a similar goal (Scapegoat, for instance).</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>Going From Goofy Fun Teenager to Responsible Adult</b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, when the story first started off we had a goofy, anxiety-filled teenager with powers he couldn’t wait to play with. He made wacky plans, went on adventures, screwed up, and did cool stuff with powers. He also nearly died a bunch of times, nearly outed himself, ended up in the hospital, and hated himself for being afraid to trust anyone. He was doomed to failure, and so he started to reach out to his parents, make friends, and trust the PRT.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The problem is that as the story kept going, people noted that its tone shifted because of that. The first half of arc 3 is all about Greg learning to trust people, think things through, see a therapist, be a good friend, practice his powers, and so on. While it makes for a good bit of character development...it’s also really boring and happy for a story set in Worm. Especially after the first two arcs of the aforementioned goofy trial-and-error with awesome powers. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How I’d Do It Better</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I think I could stand to clean up arcs 2 and 3 a lot, since they have so much in common. Greg could have outed himself to his parents (or at least Kalpin &amp; Hobson) earlier, and so many of the lessons taught by Danny/etc would have come from a pair of awesome buddy-cop PRT agents. That might have handled the tonal shift more gradually, and also solved my previous issue with having too many random Guest Characters. It might have let me bring them to life more, as well as prevent some chapters from being A Very Special Episode.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>Redeeming Villains, Consequences, and Regrets</b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’ve always believed that any sort of redemption arc must have the person doing it </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be better, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>regret</span>
  </em>
  <span> what they did, and to understand that their journey might never end. They have to know that what they did will always be a part of them, as long as people can still remember who they were, and that who they become doesn’t erase that. I feel like I could have handled both Cricket and Bakuda better in this regard, because I glossed over a lot of their development.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite appearances, I don’t feel as though my version of Cricket actually had a redemption arc. She learned to respect/like George and his family, and at the end gave her life to stop Kaiser, but I never built her character up enough to actually tie it to self-sacrifice. I even had her downplay it as being due to her future in prison, suggesting she was willing to commit suicide by cape. Plus, one grand gesture doesn’t undo all the horrible stuff she did for years beforehand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if I portrayed a slightly lighter and more self-aware Uber/Leet (raising money for the victims of their more violent crimes, paying medical bills, toning the violence down)...they were still villains. Bakuda (in this AU) only killed one person, but she still regretted punishing him with death and all three of them nearly died in a stupid fight. They didn’t join the PRT to be better people...it was more like they got spooked by near-death and wanted to live.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How I’d Do It Better</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I think I could have been better about showing the </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual punishment and consequences</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Bakuda and Cricket. Scenes of them being treated like crap for their past actions, or expecting forgiveness only to have their faults shoved in their faces. Cricket should have been constantly reminded that she was going to jail for life, because she murdered and ruined lives as a nazi. Bakuda should have been forced to see the suffering of the family of the man she killed and face the fact that she was a murderer, had her brilliance ignored as a result.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead I let it look like Cricket was just living the spy life with her fake boyfriend, and Bakuda was hanging out with her new team via a sweet PRT deal. The same goes for Uber and Leet, because even if they were acting nicer they still started bad. Even Gun Guy basically got a clean slate, but never really paid for being a member of a racist gang for years. I wish I had spent more time really showing the negatives of their lives, their regrets...and I’m sorry I didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>Ignore the E88! Wait, No! Defeat Them!</b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is one of the things that caused me a lot of grief, especially as we got near the end. The whole point of Interludes 1 and 2 was so that I would have a reason to basically ignore the E88 for this story. I mean, aside from Hookwolf at the very start, a single knife-wielding gang member, and the occasional appearance of Melody, I had an E88-free story for 40ish chapters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then I got near the end, and realized I had a competent PRT, a Watchdog that wasn’t falling apart from corruption, an E88-undermining scheme that was actually working, and people who knew about the E88/Medhall link. I started to stress about ending the story without actually dealing with all that, and so as I was writing Interlude 10 with Theo I wondered...why not? Interlude 13 came into existence, and then after I posted it...I realized I had sabotaged myself.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How I’d Do It Better</span>
  </em>
  <span>: I shouldn’t have put all that effort into avoiding the E88, only to change my mind at the last second. Having the takedown fail could have had far-reaching consequences for everyone, and even a success would have been nice to see over an arc instead of right near the end. While the gang war and its context worked, it could have worked </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span> with more planning. What I have works, but there’s a lot of content that’s missing. Which leads into...</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="u">
    <b>The Gang War...with Blinders On</b>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only as I was getting ready to post 3.10 that I realized its major weakness. This is a massive city-wide event of destruction, rioting, triggers, and more...and I’m trying to tell it through the point of view of a single person. Worse, a person in the Wards who is being kept safe and away from all the action. The whole chapter introduces all kinds of cool concepts (Skidmark’s 5 new capes, Terry’s defeat, Lichtenberg taking over the E88, a pile of new triggers, Coil’s plans), but because it’s all written from Greg’s POV we barely see any of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>How I’d Do It Better</span>
  </em>
  <span>: If I had the time, I’d have broken this out into multiple chapters. First chapter showing the immediate aftermath and news coverage, maybe with Greg in a safe place so he can watch the PRT spinning the narrative firsthand. An Interlude of the ABB/E88/Coil and others as they all wake up to find the E88’s capes are gone, and start fighting to grab as much territory/etc as they can. Another chapter like 3.10 with the Wards, like an actual wellness visit as Greg tries to convince new triggers to join the Good Guys. This improvement could apply to other chapters as well, but this is the biggest example of the problem in my opinion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>***</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Needless to say there’s a lot I’d do better, because there’s always room for improvement, but I’m proud of what I made. This was the story I wanted to tell, regardless of a few bruises. Not just Greg learning emotional maturity and becoming the hero of his dreams, but all of it!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Theo joined the Undersiders and learned to be strong. Sophia regretted her past and became a true hero thanks to Missy/Theo. Greg had an awkward romance (and breakup) with Allen. Taylor was an important character without needing powers. Lisa found a home, Rachel found her calling, and Brian’s family found happiness. Assault got divorced, mentored Carlos, and helped a lot of people learn from his mistakes. Coil got beaten by accident...and the list goes on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had fun writing this, learned a lot from the experience, and appreciate all the feedback I got.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What comes next? Well, probably something that doesn’t involve Greg or Brockton Bay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There are so many other interesting characters and places in Worm…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I’m glad I got to write about a few of them.</span>
</p><p>Most of all, I’m glad people enjoyed it.</p><p>
  <span>Thanks for believing in me.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-Distraktion</span>
</p>
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